When Torn Is The Bowom By Sorrow

When torn is the bosom by sorrow or care,
Be it ever so simple, there’s nothing like prayer;
It eases, soothes, softens, subdues, yet sustains,
Gives vigor to hope, and puts passion in chains.

Prayer, prayer, sweet, sweet prayer,
Be it ever so simple,
There’s nothing like prayer.

When far from the friends we hold dearest to part,
What fond recollections still cling to my heart,
Past scenes and past converse, enjoyments are there,
How hurtfully pleasing till hallowed by prayer. [Refrain]

When pleasure would woo us from piety’s arms,
The siren sings sweetly, or silently charms,
We listen, love, loiter, are caught in the snare,
On looking to Jesus we conquer by prayer. [Refrain]

While strangers to prayer we are strangers to bliss,
Heaven pours its full streams through no medium but this;
And till we the seraphim’s ecstasy share,
Our chalice of joy must be guarded by prayer. [Refrain]