A Pulpit Prayer in City Temple, London

Almighty God, hear the hearts that are full of prayer, that cannot utter their desires on account of the vehemency of their secret emotion. Hear the parent who wonders where the wanderer is, and would offer him a thousand welcomes if he would return. Hear the mother who must live in her sighs, because she dare not put them into speech, so keen and poignant her yearnings after those who are out of the way.

Hear Thou the unuttered desires of the penitent; the man who would return if he could find some secret door by which to come stealthily into his Father’s dishonored house; find such a way for him Thyself this very day, and make this the birthday of his soul, the genesis of a blessed immortality. Hear us for our loved ones who are sick, Mighty Physician, Tender Nurse, go into all our sick chambers, and by the brightness of Thy presence bring healing to the souls that soon must quit their tenements of clay.

The Lord look upon the old man tottering over his staff, and on the edge of the open grave; the Lord’s own fingers touch the cheek of the babe cooing in his cradle. The Lord’s eyes be for good upon the bent old woman who has seen the measure of her time and longs for the city of rest.

The Lord turn the counsel of every evil man into confusion, and bring him thereby not to ruin; but to contrition! The Lord unsettle the foundation of every iniquitous throne; the Lord baffle the decrees of every wicked empire, and prosper every man who endeavors to do good with simplicity and earnestness!
The Lord hear us in these things! We are always in His arms; may He now draw us more closely to His heart I Amen.—PARKER

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