The Prayer Of The Nations
by Theodore Tilton
O Thou by whom the lost are found,
Whose cross upon the mountain stands,
Let now its shadow on the ground
Spread east and west through all the lands
Until it wrap the earth around!
O Christ, by this Thy conquering sign,
Let Thy extended arms outreach
To all who dwell from palm to pine,
To bind each human heart to each,
And all, O Crucified, to Thine!
The morning stars give forth a song,
But, like a discord in the strain,
The earth, through all her years of wrong,
Forever moans as one in pain,
And cries, How long, O God! how long!
Yet not a star of all the sky
To Thee hath fairness like the earth,
That rolls her zones before Thine eye
To show to Heaven Thy place of birth,
And sepulcher where Thou didst lie!
O Thou who cleansest men from sin,
The Heaven of heavens, impatient, waits
Till round the earth Thy reign begin!
O be ye lifted up, ye gates,
And let the King of Glory in!
Source:The Sexton's Tale, And Other Poems.
Sheldon And Company, New York.