THE PRAYER.

WILT Thou not visit me?

The plant beside me feels thy gentle dew;
And every blade of grass I see,
From thy deep earth its moisture drew.

Wilt Thou not visit me?

Thy morning calls on me with cheering tone;
And every hill and tree

Lend but one voice, the voice of Thee alone.

Come, for I need thy love,

More than the flower the dew, or grass the rain ;

Come, gently as thy holy dove;

And let me in thy sight rejoice to live again.

I will not hide from them,

When thy storms come, though fierce may be their wrath ;

But bow with leafy stem,

And strengthened follow on thy chosen path.

Yes, Thou wilt visit me;

Nor plant nor tree thy eye delight so well,
As when from sin set free

My spirit loves with thine in peace to dwell.