1. Sweet hour of prayer! Sweet hour of prayer!
May I thy consolation share,
Till, from Mount Pisgah’s lofty height,
I view my home and take my flight.
This robe of flesh I’ll drop, and rise
To seize the everlasting prize,
And shout, while passing through the air,
“Farewell, farewell, sweet hour of prayer!”
May I thy consolation share,
Till, from Mount Pisgah’s lofty height,
I view my home and take my flight.
This robe of flesh I’ll drop, and rise
To seize the everlasting prize,
And shout, while passing through the air,
“Farewell, farewell, sweet hour of prayer!”
I’ve always loved the old hymns, and this has always been one of my favorite verses. I like word pictures, and the line about dropping our robe of flesh clearly paints a picture. I don’t know about you, but my old robe of flesh is occasionally cumbersome. Some days I picture mine as a soggy bathrobe, soaking wet, several sizes too large, dragging on the dirty floor and snagging on this and that along the way. If you’re reading this, you have a robe of flesh. Yours may be light and flawless; in which case I’m envious. Yours may be even more burdensome than mine, and your snags more apparent and tenacious; in which case I understand and I’m sympathetic. In my case, I’m often comforted by the verse above, and the picture it paints of slipping some day from this tired old hide and soaring toward the light, wrapped only in perfect peace and perfect love. Happy Easter
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