All because we do not carry Everything to God in prayer;. Oh, ye who sigh and languish And mourn your lack of power, Hear ye this gentle whisper: Jesus, where'er thy people meet, There they behold thy mercy-seat; Where'er they seek thee thou art found, And ev'ry place is hallow'd ground. For thou, within no walls confin'd, Inhabitest the humble mind; Such ever bring thee, where they come, And going, take thee to their home. Dear Shepherd of thy chosen few! Thy former mercies here renew; Here, to our waiting hearts, proclaim The sweetness of thy saving name. Here may we prove the pow'r of pray'r, To strengthen faith, and sweeten care; To teach our faint desires to rise, And bring all heav'n before our eyes.
At thy commanding word, We stretch the curtain and the cord; Come thou, and fill this wider space, And help us with a large increase. Lord, we are few, but thou art near; Nor short thine arm, nor deaf thine ear; Oh rend the heav'ns, come quickly down, And make a thousand hearts thine own! O watch and fight, and pray.
Renew it boldly every day, And help divine implore. Fight on, my soul In the happy moments, praise Him, In the difficult moments, seek Him, In the busy moments, bless Him, In the quiet moments, worship Him. In the waiting moments, trust Him, In the painful moments, touch Him, In the lovely moments, thank Him, In the quiet moments, worship Him. For the glory in all our moments, He is there, In goodness, in kindness, in love. Pray, though the gifts you ask for May never comfort your fears, May never repay your pleading:: Yet pray, and with hopeful tears, An answer --not that you sought for, But diviner--will come one day: Yet strive and wait and pray.
I asked the Lord, that I might grow In faith, and love, and every grace, Might more of His salvation know, And seek more earnestly His face. It was He who taught me thus to pray, And He, I trust has answered prayer; But it has been in such a way, As almost drove me to despair. I hoped that in some favored hour, At once He'd answer my request: And by His love's constraining power, Subdue my sins, and give me rest. Instead of this, He made me feel The hidden evils of my heart; And let the angry powers of hell Assault my soul in every part. Yes more, with His own hand He seemed Intent to aggravate my woe; Crossed all the fair designs I schemed, Blasted my gourds, and laid me low.
Lord, why is this, I trembling cried, Will You pursue Your worm to death? Prayer changes things -- and yet how blind And slow we are to taste and see The blessedness that comes to those Who trust in Thee. But henceforth we will just believe God. Prayer is the burden of a sigh, The falling of a tear, The upward glancing of an eye, When none but God is neat. Prayer is the simplest form of speech That infant lips can try; Prayer is the sublimest strains that reach The Majesty on high. Written by James Montgomery, the son of a Moravian missionary, who, despite his religious teaching, did not learn of the joys of salvation until he had bitterly experienced the disappointments of the pleasures of this world.
Prayer is the burden of a sigh, The falling of a tear; The unward glancing of an eye When none but God is near. The saints in prayer appear as one, In word, and deed, and mind; While with the Father and the Son, Sweet felloship they find. The path of prayer thyself hast trod; Lord, teach us how to pray. Prayer makes darkened clouds withdraw, Prayer climbs the ladder Jacob saw; Gives exercise to faith and love, Brings every blessing from above.
Prayers and praises go in pairs, They hath praises who hath prayers. Your eyes are too dim tosee it, Yet strive and wait and pray. Prayer was appointed to convey The blessings God designs to give. Long as they live should Christians pray; For only while they pray they. Depend on him, thou canst not fail; Make all thy wants and wishes known; Fear not, his merits must prevail; Ask what thou wilt, it shall be done. Shepherd Divine, our wants relieve In this and every day; To all Thy tempted followers give The power, to watch and pray.
Spirit of the living God, Fall fresh on me. Spirit of the living god, Fall fresh on me. Spirit of the living God, fall on me. My Lord calls me, He calls me by thunder, The trumpet sounds within my soul. Steal away, steal away, steal away to Jesus. Sweet hour of prayer, sweet hour of prayer, The joys I feel, the bliss I share of those whose anxious spirits burn with strong desires for thy return! With such I hasten to the place Where God, my Saviour, shows his face, and gladly take my station there, and wait for thee, sweet hour of prayer.
Sweet hour of prayer, sweet hour of prayer, thy wings shall my petition bear To Him, whose truth and faithfulness Engage the waiting soul to bless: Teach me to pray Lord, teach me to pray, This is my heart cry day unto day; I long to know Thy will and Thy way; Teach me to pray Lord, teach me to pray.
My weakened will, Lord, teach me to pray; My sinful nature Thou canst subdue; Fill me just now with power anew, Power to pray and power to do! Teach me to pray Lord, teach me to pray; Thou art my Pattern, day unto day; Thou art my surety, now and for aye; Teach me to pray, Lord, teach me to pray. Power with men and with power with Thee. Words and music by Albert S. Reitzd; copyright , renewal Broadman Press. Renewed by Nazarene Publishing House. Problems just tumbled about me, and heavier came each task. I woke up early this morning, and paused before entering the day; I had so much to accomplish that I had to take time to pray.
The light of love is round His feet, His paths are never dim; And He comes nigh to us, when we Dare not come nigh to Him. Let us be simple with Him, then, Not backward, stiff, or cold, As though our Bethlehem could be What Sinai was of old. The Lord has heard and answered prayer and saved his people in distress; this to the coming age declare, that they his holy name may bless.
All men in Zion shall declare his gracious name with one accord, when kings and nations gather there to serve and worship God the Lord. You, O Jehovah, shall endure, your throne forever is the same; and to all generations sure shall be your great memorial name. Bid the unruly throng depart, And leave the consecrated door. Devoted as it is to thee, A thievish swarm frequents the place; They steal away my joys from me, And rob my Saviour of his praise.
I know them, and I hate their din; Am weary of the bustling crowd; But while their voice is heard within, I cannot serve thee as I would. O for the joy thy presence gives; What peace shall reign when thou art here; Thy presence makes this den of thieves A calm, delightful house of prayer. And if thou make thy temple shine, Yet, self-abased, will I adore; The gold and silver are not mine; I give thee what was thine before.
The Ministry of Intercession. There is no holy service But hath its secret bliss: Yet, of all blessed ministries, Is one so dear as this? While some are hushed in slumber, Some to fresh service wake, And thus the saintly number No change or chance can break. And thus the sacred courses Are evermore fulfilled, The tide of grace By time or place Is never stayed or stilled. We should hear it far up-floating Beneath the Orient moon, And catch the golden noting From the busy Western noon; And pine-robed heights would echo As the mystic chant up-floats, And the sunny plain Resound again With the myriad-mingling notes.
Who are the blessed ministers Of this world-gathering band?
Yet there are some who see not Their calling high and grand, Who seldom pass the portals, And never boldly stand Before the golden altar On the crimson-stained floor, Who wait afar and falter, And dare not hope for more. Will ye not join the blessed ranks In their beautiful array? Let intercession blend with thanks As ye minister to-day! There are little ones among them Child-ministers of prayer, White robes of intercession Those tiny servants wear. First for the near and dear ones Is that fair ministry, Then for the poor black children, So far beyond the sea. The busy hands are folded, As the little heart uplifts In simple love, To God above, Its prayer for all good gifts.
There are hands too often weary With the business of the day, With God-entrusted duties, Who are toiling while they pray. They bear the golden vials, And the golden harps of praise Through all the daily trials, Through all the dusty ways, These hands, so tired, so faithful, With odours sweet are filled, And in the ministry of prayer And wonderfully skilled.
Free of the heavenly storehouse! There are noble Christian workers, The men of faith and power, The overcoming wrestlers Of many a midnight hour; Prevailing princes with their God, Who will not be denied, Who bring down showers of blessing To swell the rising tide. The Prince of Darkness quaileth At their triumphant way, Their fervent prayer availeth To sap his subtle sway. But in this temple service Are sealed and set apart Arch-priests of intercession, Of undivided heart.
The fulness of anointing On these is doubly shed, The consecration of their God Is on each low-bowed head. They bear the golden vials With white and trembling hand; In quiet room Or wakeful gloom These ministers must stand,-. To the Intercession-Priesthood Mysteriously ordained, When the strange dark gift of suffering This added gift hath gained. Not always with rejoicing This ministry is wrought, For many a sigh is mingled With the sweet odours brought.
Yet every tear bedewing The faith-fed altar fire May be its bright renewing To purer flame, and higher. But when the oil of gladness God graciously outpoars, The heavenward blaze, With blended praise,More mightily uproars. So the incense-cloud ascendeth As through calm, crystal air, A pillar reaching unto heaven Of wreathed faith and prayer. And evermore the Father Sends radiantly down All-marvellous responses, His ministers to crown; The incense-clond returning As golden blessing-showers, We in each drop discerning Some feeble prayer of ours, Transmuted into wealth unpriced, By Him who giveth thus The gloria all to Jesus Christ, The gladness all to us!
My unassisted heart is barren clay, That of its nature self can nothing feed;. The praying Spirit breathe, The watching power impart, From all entanglements beneath, Call off my anxious heart. My feeble mind sustain, By worldly thoughts oppressed, Appears and bid me turn again To my eternal rest.
Walking in the Footsteps of Jesus
For prayer that humbles sets the soul From all delusions free, And teachers it how utterly Dear Lord, it hangs on Thee. The Path of Prayer, Samuel Chadwick. Then earnest let us cry, And never faint in prayer: God loves our importunity, And makes our cause His care. Since Christ was God, why must He pray? By Him all things were known and made.
Why need He ever ask for aid? And touched with our infirmities, For those few years like us to be, He still remembers we are dust, Since He was tempted like as we. But well He knew the source of help, Whence comes all power, strength and peace, In blest communion with His God, Care and perplexity would cease. Oh, no, no, no, said Elder Slow, Such posture is too proud. A man should pray with eyes fast-closed And head contritely bowed. It seems to me his hands should be austerely clasped in front With both thumbs pointing toward the ground, Said Reverend Doctor Blunt.
The victories won by prayer, By prayer must still be held; The foe retreats, but only when By prayer he is compelled. My wells are dry. Then, seeing me empty, you forsake. And thus you neither need reply Nor can; thus, while we seem Two talkers, thou art One forever, and I No dreamer, but thy dream.
Away in foreign lands they wondered how Their simple word had power. At home, the Christians two or three had met To pray an hour. Because we do not see Someone, unknown perhaps, and far away, On bended knee! Thou art coming to a King, Large petitions with thee bring; For his grace and power are such None can ever ask too much. This prayer is not his own: God Himself is speaking.
See, God prays in him, and he stands in deep contemplation. God has given him both the contemplation and the answer? The ruins of my soul repair, And make my heart a house of prayer. Thy promise, Lord, is ever sure, And they that in Thy house would dwell That happy station to secure, Must still in holiness excel.
Am I His, or am I not?
If I love, why am I thus; Why this dull, this lifeless frame? Hardly, sure, can they be worse, Who have never heard His name.
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Could my heart so hard remain, Prayer a task and burden prove; Every trifle give me pain, If I knew a Savior's love? When I turn my eyes within, All is dark and vain and wild; Filled with unbelief and sin, Can I deem myself a child? Yet I mourn my stubborn will, Find my sin a grief and thrall! Should I grieve for what I feel, If I did not love at all? Lord, decide the doubtful case, Thou who art Thy people's sun: Shine upon Thy work of grace, If it be indeed begun.
O how sweet to be there! To God your every want In instant prayer display. Pray always; pray and never faint: To pray is as it were to bathe one's-self in a cool bubbling stream, and so to escape from the heat of earth's summer sun. To pray is to mount on eagle's wings above the clouds and get into the clear heaven where God dwells. To pray is to enter the treasure-house of God and to enrich one's-self out of an inexhaustible storehouse. To pray is to grasp heaven in one's arms, to embrace the Deity within one's soul, and to feel one's body made a temple of the Holy Spirit.
To pray is to cast off your burdens, it is to tear away your rags, it is to shake off your diseases, it is to be filled with spiritual vigor, it is to reach the highest point of Christian health. To stretch my hand and touch Him, Though He be far away; To raise my eyes and see Him Through darkness as through day: To lift my voice and call Him-- This is to pray!
To feel a hand extended By One Who standeth near; To view the love that shineth In eyes serene and clear ; To know that He is calling-- This is to hear! Trials make the promise sweet; Trials give new life to prayer; Trials bring me to His feet, Lay me low, and keep me there. Two went to pray? Twice blest, whose lives are faithful prayers, Whose lives in higher love endure!
What souls possess themselves so pre! Or is there blessedness like theirs. The Prayer your lips have pleaded In Agony of heart these many years? Does faith begin to fail; is hope departing, And think you all in vain those falling tears? Say not the Father hath not heard your prayer; You shall have your desire sometime, somewhere. Though years have passed since then, do not despair; The Lord will answer you sometime, somewhere.
Nay, do not say unanswered, Perhaps your part is not yet wholly done, The work began when first your prayer was uttered, And God will finish what He has begun. Keep the incense burning at the shrine of prayer, His glory you shall see sometime, somewhere. Faith cannot be unanswered; Here feet are firmly planted on the Rock; Amid the wildest storms she stands undaunted, Nor quails before the loudest thunder shock. What a friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear, What a privilege to carry, everything to God in prayer!
O what peace we often forfeit, O what needless pain we bear, All because we do not carry, everything to God in prayer. Have we trials and temptations? Is there trouble anywhere? We should never be discouraged: Can we find a friend so faithful, who will all our sorrows share? Jesus knows our every weakness take it to the Lord in prayer!
What we do
Are we weak and heavy laden, cumbered with a load of care? Precious Savior, still our refuge take it to the Lord in prayer! Do thy friends despise, forsake thee? Take it to the Lord in prayer! Inspired by visual images and literary descriptions of exuberant music-making in the Mughal courts, the Aga Khan Music Initiative brought together musicians from Afghanistan, India, and Tajikistan with the aim of merging their talents, traditions, and musical instruments to create new sounds.
Babur was born into a world in which the influence of Persian culture loomed large. The Timurids, descended from Turco-Mongol stock, had cultivated a Persian sensibility in art, architecture, poetry, and music that reached its zenith in 15th-century Samarkand and Herat, and it was this sensibility that Babur absorbed in his youth. As a teenager, Babur set off from his native Ferghana with a small army. His attempt failed, but in , when Babur was twenty-one, he seized Kabul, and the next year took up residence there. From his base in Kabul, Babur led reconnaissance expeditions eastward into Hindustan, and in , his vastly outnumbered troops won a decisive battle that gave him control of Delhi and Agra, the future site of the Taj Mahal, built by his great-great-grandson, Shah Jahan.
The cultural diversity of this vast territory was reflected in the different kinds of music and musical ensembles that were patronized by the Mughal courts. Orchestras of kettledrums, cymbals, trumpets, and loud oboes whose origins were in Persia and the Middle East marked the comings and goings of the emperor. Mughal miniature paintings show a variety of long-necked lutes and spike fiddles - instruments rooted in the Persian and Turkic cultures of Central Asia. These paintings also show indigenous Indian instruments - most commonly the rudra vina, also called bin, easily identifiable by the large gourds attached to either end of a long neck.
Another venue for musical fusions might have been the meeting places of Sufis - followers of a mystical path in Islam - where, contrary to more orthodox Islamic custom, musical instruments were sometimes used to facilitate prayer leading to a state of spiritual ecstasy. Following the death of Aurangzeb, in , the Mughal Empire began a long period of decline, which ended in with the abdication of Emperor Bahadur II and the establishment of the British Raj.
Following the rise of Soviet power in Central Asia in the s, the once porous border between Central Asia and the subcontinent hardened. The fluid movement of artists and musicians characteristic of Mughal times was replaced by bureaucratized cultural exchanges of state-sponsored performing troupes and artistic luminaries. Hoping to reanimate those links, the Aga Khan Music Initiative invited a small group of cosmopolitan-minded musicians from Central Asia, Afghanistan, and India to meet and explore the living legacy of their common musical ground.
These musical meetings did not take place in the historical lands of the Mughals. Sakhi himself offers an exemplary case study in artistic synthesis.
A Collection Of Poems To Stir The Heart Of The Believer To Prayer | tevopaleqopi.tk
Born into one of the leading musical families of Kabul, he studied rubab with his father, Ustad Ghulam Sakhi, a student of Ustad Mohammad Omar d. The music he learned included both the classical Hindustani raga tradition of North India and Afghan folk and popular music. Beginning in the midth century, at the sunset of the Mughal Empire, Hindustani musicians were patronized by the local ruling family of Kabul, where they created a Kabuli tradition of raga performance whose principal instruments were Afghan rubab accompanied by tabla.
This 19th-century adaptation of the rubab, an instrument rooted in the music of Central and West Asia, reprised the adaptation of older forms of long-necked lutes by musicians in the early 17th-century Mughal court, who, as shown in miniature paintings, used them to play the steady drone pitch that was then coming into fashion as an accompaniment to classical singers. Drawn by the lively musical life of Mumbai, the elder Sharma had moved there in the s from Kashmir, his native land.
The santur - a zither whose strings are struck with small wooden mallets, like a hammer dulcimer - had long been played in Kashmir as a folk instrument and as part of Sufyana Kalam, a local classical music tradition linked to Sufi practices. Musical instrument specialists place the origins of the santur in the Middle East. When it first appeared in Kashmir is unknown, but santur-like zithers are depicted in Mughal miniature paintings.
In , Mormon publication The Children's Friend re-published the Loughead piece credited, but misspelled "Laughead" , ensuring a wider distribution in the western states. Veneklasen's poem appeared occasionally in newspaper obituaries, commonly lacking attribution, and often with the decease substituted for "I". This was a bit of romantic verse that moves from sadness at "lone footprints in the sand" to close with "our footprints in the sand". The earliest known formally dated publications of any variants of the poem are from , with three different descriptions of the person and also the setting.
The first to appear in July, , in a small Iowa town newspaper, is a very concise six-sentence version featuring an "elderly man" and "rocky roads". The second and most complete early appearance was in a September issue of Evangel , a semi-monthly Church of God publication. A third version appeared in October, , in two California papers, first in Oakland  and twelve days later in Shafter,  with a "young woman" and a "sandy pathway" in a "desert wilderness".
This version does not appear to have re-emerged later. In , additional appearances occurred: In January, , the Opelousas, Louisiana, Daily World published a near exact Carty version but with a "My dear child" mutation at the end, and no attribution. In March, the Winona Times presented a Powers-like version with "a certain elderly man He was "sorely troubled and his life had been at its saddest and lowest ebb.
The March, issue of Liguorian , a monthly publication of the Catholic Congregation of the Most Holy Redeemer , published a complete, nearly unmodified first-person version following Carty, but attributed to "Author Unknown". Christian televangelist and columnist Robert Schuller noted in his column that a reader had sent him a story; it is unclear whether the version presented in the column—which casts a "pilgrim" as the human character—was used verbatim or was rewritten by Schuller: In April, , the Havre Daily News in Montana published a variant of the Carty version told in first person with slightly different punctuation and a "never, never" alteration to match the "precious, precious child" of the previous sentence.
The author of the local weekly column noted that it had been supplied by a friend who had "first heard [it] when Paul Harvey quoted it on his radio program. No recordings or transcriptions of Mr. Harvey's daily radio news and commentary broadcasts are known to have survived. A verbatim copy of the Havre instance ran in a small, inmate-produced newsletter published by the Napa State Hospital , in July, Advice columnist Ann Landers  published an exact copy of the Stevenson version in July, The column indicates that the correspondent who provided the work, claims to have carried a tattered copy around "for years" with no further explanation of its publication source.
She printed the piece again in late February in response to reader demand and noted that it had also appeared in Reader's Digest. Christian televangelist Jerry Falwell 's biography, Jerry Falwell: Aflame for God , opens a chapter with an expanded "a man dreamed" version. Humorist and columnist Erma Bombeck  published a condensed version of Stevenson's variant in July During the United States presidential campaign, Ronald Reagan used a variant of "Footprints", with himself as the human, as the closing lines in an August speech to evangelical leaders in Dallas, Texas.
In , Cristy Lane released country gospel version of the song called "Footprints in the Sand". The song peaked at No. In , Ken Brown published a version of the poem in rhyme and rhythm as opposed to the more commonly known free form versions popular today. In the song, the Lord explains the fact that there is only one set of footprints this way: The poem was used in the memorial service for Air France Flight on 3 June In , a larger-than-life sculpture inspired by the poem was installed at Pippen Memorial Park in Carthage, Texas.
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. For other uses, see Footprint disambiguation. This section needs additional citations for verification. Please help improve this article by adding citations to reliable sources. Unsourced material may be challenged and removed.
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