Prayer is two-way communication with God. We can come to Him at anytime and for anything. He listens and He cares. I trust you will enjoy these poems about prayer.
You turn to God when storm clouds brew,
And pray to Him for light;
Would you know all God's good for you,
Try praying when the skies are bright.
I just breathe the name of Jesus
when my heart is filled with fear.
And though I cannot see His face,
I know that He is near.
When I whisper "Jesus" softly
I'm admitting I'm in need.
By calling out that precious name,
my stress-bound soul is freed.
It's a one-word prayer I utter
when I'm not sure what to pray.
It's a prayer of sweet surrender
when I'm weary of "my way."
I pray "Jesus" when I'm worried
or when I am depressed.
I say "Jesus" when my mind's confused
or when my life's a mess.
It's a prayer He always answers
as He gives me eyes to see
evidences of His presence
and His tender love for me.
Not what we wish but what we want
Thy favouring grace supply;
The good unasked, in mercy grant,
The ill, though asked, deny.
Saviour, when in dust to Thee
Low we bend the adoring knee;
When, repentant, to the skies
Scarce we lift our weeping eyes,--
O, by all Thy pains and woe
Suffered once for man below,
Bending from Thy throne on high,
Hear our solemn litany!
By Thy helpless infant years;
By Thy life of want and tears;
By Thy days of sore distress
In the savage wilderness;
By the dread mysterious hour
Of the insulting tempter's power,--
Turn, O, turn a favoring eye,
Hear our solemn litany!
By the sacred griefs that wept
O'er the grave where Lazarus slept;
By the boding tears that flowed
Over Salem's loved abode;
By the anguished sigh that told
Treachery lurked within Thy fold,--
From Thy seat above the sky
Hear our solemn litany!
By Thine hour of dire despair;
By Thine agony of prayer;
By the cross, the nail, the thorn,
Piercing spear, and torturing scorn;
By the gloom that veiled the skies
O'er the dreadful sacrifice,--
Listen to our humble cry,
Hear our solemn litany!
By Thy deep expiring groan;
By the sad sepulchral stone;
By the vault whose dark abode
Held in vain the rising God;
O, from earth to heaven restored,
Mighty, reascended Lord,--
Listen, listen to the cry
Of our solemn litany!
SIR ROBERT GRANT
Prayer is the soul's sincere desire,
Uttered or unexpressed--
The motion of a hidden fire
That trembles in the breast.
Prayer is the burthen of a sigh,
The falling of a tear--
The upward glancing of an eye,
When none but God is near.
Prayer is the simplest form of speech
That infant lips can try--
Prayer the sublimest strains that reach
The majesty on high.
Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice
Returning from his ways,
While angels in their songs rejoice,
And cry, "Behold he prays!"
Prayer is the Christian's vital breath--
The Christian's native air--
His watchword at the gates of death--
He enters heaven with prayer.
The saints in prayer appear as one
In word, and deed, and mind,
While with the Father and the Son
Sweet fellowship they find.
Nor prayer is made by man alone--
The Holy Spirit pleads--
And Jesus, on the eternal throne,
For shiners intercedes.
O Thou by whom we come to God--
The life, the truth, the way!
The path of prayer Thyself hast trod;
Lord, teach us how to pray!
To prayer, to prayer;--for the morning breaks,
And earth in her Maker's smile awakes.
His light is on all below and above,--
The light of gladness, and life, and love.
Oh, then, on the breath of this early air
Send upward the incense of grateful prayer.
To prayer;--for the glorious sun is gone,
And the gathering darkness of night comes on;
Like a curtain from God's kind hand it flows,
To shade the couch where his children impose.
Then kneel, while the watching stars are bright,
And give your last thoughts to the Guardian of night.
To prayer;--for the day that God has blest
Comes tranquilly on with its welcome rest.
It speaks of creation's early bloom;
It speaks of the Prince who burst the tomb.
Then summon the spirit's exalted powers,
And devote to Heaven the hallowed hours.
There are smiles and tears in the mother's eyes,
For her new-born infant beside her lies.
Oh, hour of bliss! when the heart o'erflows
With rapture a mother only knows.
Let it gush forth in words of fervent prayer;
Let it swell up to Heaven for her precious care.
There are smiles and tears in that gathering band,
Where the heart is pledged with the trembling hand:
What trying thoughts in her bosom swell,
As the bride bids parents and home farewell!
Kneel down by the side of the tearful pair,
And strengthen the perilous hour with prayer.
Kneel down by the dying sinner's side,
And pray for his soul through Him who died.
Large drops of anguish are thick on his brow;
Oh, what are earth and its pleasures now!
And what shall assuage his dark despair,
But the penitent cry of humble prayer?
Kneel down by the couch of departing faith,
And hear the last words the believer saith.
He has bidden adieu to his earthly friends;
There is peace in his eye that upward bends;
There is peace in his calm, confiding air;
For his last thoughts are God's, his last words prayer.
The voice of prayer at the sable bier!
A voice to sustain, to soothe, and to cheer.
It commends the spirit to God who gave;
It lifts the thoughts from the cold, dark grave;
It points to the glory where he shall reign,
Who whispered, "Thy brother shall rise again."
The voice of prayer in the world of bliss!
But gladder, purer, than rose from this.
The ransomed shout to their glorious King,
Where no sorrow shades the soul as they sing;
But a sinless and joyous song they raise,
And their voice of prayer is eternal praise.
Awake, awake! and gird up thy strength,
To join that holy band at length!
To Him who unceasing love displays,
Whom the powers of nature unceasingly praise,--
To Him thy heart and thy hours be given;
For a life of prayer is the life of Heaven.
HENRY WARE, JR.
My words fly up, my thoughts remain below;
Words without thoughts never to heaven go.
In heavy sleep the Caliph lay,
When some one called, "Arise, and pray!"
The angry Caliph cried, "Who dare
Rebuke his king for slighting prayer?"
Then, from the corner of the room,
A voice cut sharply through the gloom:
"My name is Satan, Rise! obey
Mohammed's law; awake, and pray!"
"Thy words are good," the Caliph said,
"But their intent I somewhat dread.
For matters cannot well be worse
Than when the thief says, 'Guard your purse!'
I cannot trust your counsel, friend,
It surely hides some wicked end."
Said Satan, "Near the throne of God,
In ages past, we devils trod;
Angels of light, to us 't was given
To guide each wandering foot to heaven.
Not wholly lost is that first love.
Nor those pure tastes we knew above.
Roaming across a continent.
The Tartar moves his shifting tent,
But never quite forgets the day
When in his father's arms he lay;
So we, once bathed in love divine.
Recall the taste of that rich wine.
God's finger rested on my brow,--
That magic touch, I feel it now!
I fell, 't is true--O, ask not why.
For still to God I turn my eye.
It was a chance by which I fell,
Another takes me back from hell.
'T was but my envy of mankind,
The envy of a loving mind.
Jealous of men, I could not bear
God's love with this new race to share.
But yet God's tables open stand,
His guests flock in from every land;
Some kind act towards the race of men
May toss us into heaven again.
A game of chess is all we see,--
And God the player, pieces we.
White, black--queen, pawn,--'t is all the same,
For on both sides he plays the game.
Moved to and fro, from good to ill,
We rise and fall as suits his will."
The Caliph said, "If this be so,
I know not, but thy guile I know;
For how can I thy words believe,
When even God thou didst deceive?
A sea of lies art thou,--our sin
Only a drop that sea within."
"Not so," said Satan, "I serve God,
His angel now, and now his rod.
In tempting I both bless and curse,
Make good men better, bad men worse.
Good coin is mixed with bad, my brother,
I but distinguish one from the other."
"Granted," the Caliph said, "but still
You never tempt to good, but ill.
Tell then the truth, for well I know
You come as my most deadly foe."
Loud laughed the fiend. "You know me well,
Therefore my purpose I will tell.
If you had missed your prayer, I knew
A swift repentance would ensue;
And such repentance would have been
A good, outweighing far the sin.
I chose this humbleness divine,
Borne out of fault, should not be thine,
Preferring prayers elate with pride
To sin with penitence allied."
JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE
Two went to pray? O, rather say,
One went to brag, the other to pray;
One stands up close and treads on high,
Where the other dares not lend his eye;
One nearer to God's altar trod,
The other to the altar's God.
"When thou wast under the fig-tree, I saw thee."
I Saw thee when, as twilight fell,
And evening lit her fairest star,
Thy footsteps sought yon quiet dell,
The world's confusion left afar.
I saw thee when thou stood'st alone,
Where drooping branches thick o'erhung,
Thy still retreat to all unknown,
Hid in deep shadows darkly flung.
I saw thee when, as died each sound
Of bleating flock or woodland bird,
Kneeling, as if on holy ground,
Thy voice the listening silence heard.
I saw thy calm, uplifted eyes,
And marked the heaving of thy breast,
When rose to heaven thy heartfelt sighs
For purer life, for perfect rest.
I saw the light that o'er thy face
Stole with a soft, suffusing glow,
As if, within, celestial grace
Breathed the same bliss that angels know.
I saw--what thou didst not--above
Thy lowly head an open heaven;
And tokens of thy Father's love
With smiles to thy rapt spirit given.
I saw thee from that sacred spot
With firm and peaceful soul depart;
I, Jesus, saw thee,--doubt it not,--
And read the secrets of thy heart!