The Hallowed Morn Is Dear to Me

The hallowed morn is dear to me, When prayer and praise awake the day, Or friends with sacred minstrelsy, Call me from earthly cares away.

And dear to me the scared hour Employed within Thy courts, O Lord! To feel devotion's soothing power, And taste the manna of Thy word.

And dear to me the loud "Amen," Which echoes through the blest abode, Which swells, and sinks, and swells again, Dies on the walls, but lives with God.

In secret I have often prayed, And still the anxious tears would fall; But on Thy secret altar laid, The fire descends and dries them all.

Let men of pleasure strike their lyre, Of broken Sabbaths sing the charms, But I, in prayer's swift car of fire, Will rise to Jesus's sheltering arms.