1 My God, is any hour so sweet From blush of morn to evening star, As that which calls me to Thy feet, The hour of prayer? 2 Blest is that tranquil hour of morn, And blest that hour of solemn eve, When, on the wings of prayer up borne, The world I leave. 3 For then a dayspring shines on me, Brighter than morn’s ethereal glow, And richer dews descend from Thee Than earth can know. 4 Then is my strength by Thee renewed; Then are my sins by Thee forgiven; Then dost Thou cheer my solitude With hopes of heaven. 5 No words can tell what sweet relief There for my every want I find. What strength for warfare, balm for grief, What peace of mind! 6 Hushed is each doubt, gone every fear; My spirit seems in heaven to stay; And even the penitential tear Is wiped away. 7 Lord, till I reach yon blissful shore, No privilege so dear shall be As thus my inmost soul to pour In prayer to thee.