THE LAST PRAYER-MEETING.
By Vesta N. Cudworth
No speechless ones there, as far out on the darkness,
Echoes prayer after prayer from the far mountain night;
Together they bow till in wails of wild anguish,
In one awful chorus their voices unite.
Oh! hide us, ye rocks, fall upon us, ye mountains,
We fain would be crushed, ere the terrible gleam
Of that eye, in its anger, gleam fiercely upon us,
Oh! cover us, rocks, from the wrath of the Lamb. Here, side by side, enemies kneel with their neighbors,
As the white locks of age blend with beautiful curls;
And dainty feet range with the vilest of sinners,
No grades of refinement now trouble their souls.
The drunkard and thief, with the bold Sabbath-breaker,
The priest with his flock he has led on in sin,
All pray in deep sorrow, but not to their Maker,
No! fall on us, mountains, and hide us from him.