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If you hear a prayer that moves you By its humble, pleading tone Join it. If your work is made more easy By a friendly, helping hand Say so. Speak out brave and truly Ere the darkness veil the land Should a brother workman dear Falter for a word of cheer?

Scatter thus your seeds of kindness All enriching as you go Leave them. Trust the Harvest-Giver He will make each seed to grow So, until the happy end Your life shall never lack a friend. You'll find when you smile Your day will be brighter And all of your burdens Will seem so much lighter For each time you smile You will find it is true Somebody, somewhere will Smile back at you And nothing on Earth Can make life more worthwhile Than the sunshine and warmth Of a beautiful smile. My life is but a weaving Between my God and me I may not choose the colours He knows what they should be For He can view the pattern From the upper side While I can see it only On this the under side.

The little acorn heard it all And thought it quite a joke How could he dream an acorn small Would ever be an oak? He laughed so much that presently He tumbled from his cup And rolled a long way from the tree Where no one picked him up. Close by him was a rabbit hole And when the wind blew high Down went the acorn with a roll For weeks in gloom to lie But, one bright day, a shoot of green Broke from his body dry And pushed its way with longing keen To see the glorious sky.

Today upon a bus I saw a lovely girl with golden hair I envied her The world is mine. I know, blue modest violets Gleaming with dew at morn I know the place you come from And the way that you were born. When God cut holes in Heaven The holes the stars look through He let the scraps fall down to Earth The little scraps are you.

Inspirational Poems known sources. Spiritual Quotes Hom e. Poems - Trina Graves. Site Map What's New. A Piece Of Clay. Footprints In The Sand. I'd Choose To Be. Scatter Seeds Of Kindness. The Fabric Of Life. Their fluency in the language of raga was in some sense a vestige of the enormous momentum of Mughal artistic synthesis, which persisted long past the cultural apogee of the empire, drawing an ever-expanding constellation of regional instruments and performance traditions into the cosmopolitan musical domain that was one of its great artistic legacies. Two other ragas - Bhupali and Vachaspati - are also represented on the CD, each in a solo performance, on the Afghan rubab and santur, respectively.

At the same time that instruments such as the rubab and santur from the geographical margins of the Mughal Empire became a part of the Hindustani classical music tradition, they remained popular among performers of many kinds of local folk music. Rahul Sharma drew on the folksong tradition of Jammu, in the southwest of the Indian state of Jammu and Kashmir, for the charming melody that serves as the basis for an extemporized duet he performs with Homayun Sakhi. Rahul taught the melody to Homayun, and they quickly worked out an arrangement. In this collaboration, the tabla represents the influence of India in a sound rooted in the Persian-speaking world from which Mughal artists and musicians drew much of their inspiration.

One of the musicians from Tajikistan, Mukhtor Muborakqadomov, lives not far from the Afghan border, in the Pamir Mountains of Badakhshan, a culturally autonomous region that straddles the boundary between Afghanistan and Tajikistan. Unlike the sitar, however, the Badakhshani setar is purely a village instrument - an artifact of the long tradition of music, poetry, and spirituality among inhabitants of the austere settlements that dot the steep alpine slopes and valleys of the Pamirs.

The second musician from Tajikistan, dutar player Sirojiddin Juraev, grew up in and around Khujand, the main city of northern Tajikistan, not far from the birthplace of Emperor Babur, in Ferghana. These days, the dutar, like the Afghan rubab, lives a dual musical life in which it is used both by performers of classical music and folk music.

The tabla, a product of the Mughal-era fusion of Persian percussion and Indian sensibility, provides an Indian accent to the sounds of Central Asian instruments, reanimating the artistic synthesis of two great and enduring musical civilizations. Since immigrating to the United States in , Homayun Sakhi has established a worldwide reputation as the outstanding Afghan rubab player of his generation.

His artistry demonstrates how an imaginative musician working within a traditional musical idiom can enrich and expand its expressive power, while respecting the taste and sensibility passed down from master musicians of the past. Ghulam Sakhi was heir to a musical lineage that began in the s, when the ruler of Kabul, Amir Sher Ali Khan, brought classically trained musicians from India to perform at his court.

Over the next hundred years, Indian musicians thrived there, and Kabul became a center for the performance of North Indian classical music. Musicians in Kabul also cultivated the art of playing the rubab, which was prominent in regional folk music. Today the people of Afghanistan regard the rubab with great pride as their national instrument. His busy performance schedule regularly takes him to cities around the world.

Born in Mumbai in , Rahul Sharma is heir to the Indian classical santur tradition established by his esteemed father, Shiv Kumar Sharma. But once I started, it just took off. Ever since I was a kid, I played the Casio synthesizer and composed my own tunes. Composing offers freedom from the discipline of classical music. When I was growing up, I was fascinated not just by Indian classical music but by world music and rock. The santur is not just a classical instrument.

It has a whole different side. Take Thou my heart, cleanse every part, Holy Spirit, breathe on me. Holy Spirit, breath on me, Until, my heart is clean; Let Sunshine fill its in most part, With not a cloud between. Holy Spirit, breath on me, My stubborn will subdue; Teach me in words of living flame, What Christ would have me do.

We Never Know Where Walking in His Steps Will Lead

Holy Spirit, breath on me, Fill me with power divine; Kindle a flame of love and zeal, Within this heart of mine. Can I have the things I pray for? God knows best; He is wiser than His children. Freedom of Access to a Throne of Grace Heb. He makes the dead to hear his voice; He makes the blind to see; The sinner lost he came to save, And set the prisoner free. Come boldly to the throne of grace, For Jesus fills the throne; And those he kills he makes alive; He hears the sigh or groan. Poor bankrupt souls, who feel and know The hell of sin within, Come boldy to the throne of grace; The Lord will take you in.

Come, come, my soul, with boldness come, Unto the throne of grace; There Jesus sits to answer prayer, And shows a smiling face. Our Surety stands before the throne, And personates our case; And send the blessed Spirit down With tokens of his grace. But he upholds us with his arm, And will not let us fall; When Satan roars, and sin prevails, He hears our mournful call. Then let us all unite and sing The praises of free grace; Those souls who long to see him now, Shall surely see his face.

Convince us of our sin; Then lead to Jesus' blood, And to our wondering view reveal The secret love of God. Come, my soul, thy suit prepare: Jesus loves to answer prayer; He himself has bide thee pray, Therefore will not say thee, Nay. Thou art coming to a King, Large petitions with thee bring; For his grace and power are such, None can ever ask too much. With my burden I begin: Lord, remove this load of sin; Let thy blood, for sinners spilt, Set my conscience free of guilt. Lord, I come to thee for rest, Take possession of my breast; There thy blood-bought right maintain, And without a rival reign.

Show me what I have to do, Every hour my strength renew: May the power never fail us; dwell within us constantly Then shall truth and life and light banish all the gloom of night. Grant our hearts in fullest measure wisdom, counsel, purity. That we ever may be seeking only that which pleaseth thee. Show us, Lord, the path of blessing: Should we stray, O Lord, recall; work repentance when we fall. Holy Spirit, strong and mighty, thou who makest all things new, make thy work within us perfect and the evil foe subdue. Grant us weapons for the strife and with victory crown our life.

Schaeffer, ; alt; alt. Come, O thou traveler, unknown, Whom still I hold, but cannot see; My company before has gone, And I am left alone with thee: With thee all night I mean to say, And wrestle till the break of day. In vain thou strugglest to get free; I never will unloose my hold: Art thou the Man that died for me? Come to the morning-prayer; Come, let us kneel and pray: At noon, beneath the Rock Of Ages, rest and pray; Sweet is that shelter from the heat, When the sun smites by day. When midnight veils our eyes, Oh, it is sweet to say, I sleep, but my heart waketh, Lord, With thee to watch and pray.

Dangerous is the path we go, In this wilderness below, Savage beasts of every kind, Aiming to distress the mind. Scarce an hour but pilgrims see They from danger are not free; In some unexpected way, Something fills them with dismay. Thus beset, they daily feel They have neither strength nor skill Rightly to oppose the foe, Or to guard against the woe. How, then, can they persevere?

Must they of the prize despair? Christ the Master, Lord of all, Bids his children watch and call; May it be our blessed case, Both to watch and seek his face. When we watch, then may we pray And in prayer watch every day; And with pleasure ever prove All our strength is from above. Thy house is called the house of prayer, A solemn sacred place; O let us now thy presence share, While at the throne of grace. With holy boldness may we come, Though of sinful race, Thankful to find there yet is room Before the throne of grace. Our earnest, fervent cry attend, And all our faith increase, While we address our heavenly Friend Upon the throne of grace.

His tender pity and his love Our every fear will chase; And all our help, we then shall prove, Comes from the throne of grace. Dear Lord, our many wants supply; Attend to every case; While humbled in the dust we lie, Low at the throne of grace. We bless thee for thy word and laws; We bless thee for thy peace; And we do bless thee, Lord, because There is a throne of grace.

Mine, mine, mine I know thou art mine Saviour, dear Saviour, I know thou art mine. Deep in unfathomable mines Of never-failing skill He treasures up His bright designs, And works His sovereign will. Faith asks no signal from the skies, To show that prayers accepted rise, Our Priest is in His holy place, And answers from the throne of grace. Whither shall I go? For what are men better than sheep or goats That nourish a blind life within the brain, If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer Botb for themselves and those who call them friend?

For so the whole round world is every way Bound by gold chains about the feet of God. From every stormy wind that blows, from every swelling tide of woes, There is a calm, a sure retreat: There is a place where Jesus sheds the oil of gladness on our heads, A place than all besides more sweet; it is the bloodstained mercy seat.

There is a spot where spirits blend, where friend holds fellowship with friend. Ah, whither could we flee for aid, when tempted, desolate, dismayed, Or how the hosts of hell defeat, had suffering saints no mercy seat. O may my hand forget her skill, my tongue be silent, cold and still, this bounding heart forget to beat, if I forget the mercy seat.

Gird thy heavenly armour on, Wear it ever night and day, Ambushed lies the evil one, Watch and pray. God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform; He plants His footsteps in the sea, And rides upon the storm. God of my life, to thee I call; Afflicted at thy feet I fall; When the great water-floods prevail, Leave not my trembling heart to fail. Friend of the friendless and the faint, Where should I lodge my deep complaint? Where but with thee, whose open door Invites the helpless and the poor?

Does not the word still fixed remain, That none shall seek thy face in vain? That were a grief I count not bear, Didst thou not hear and answer prayer; But a prayer-hearing, answering God Supports me under every load. Poor though I am, despised, forgot, Yet God, my God, forgets me not; And he is safe, and must succeed, For whom the Lord vouchsafes to plead.

On Thee our humble hopes depend; Our cause can never, never fail For Thou dost plead and must prevail. He answered prayer—not in the way I sought Nor in the way that I had thought He ought; But in His own good way; and I could see He answered in the fashion best for me. He asked for strength that he might achieve: He asked for health that he might do greater things; he was given infirmity that he might do better things. He asked for riches that he might be happy; he was given weakness that he might feel the need of God.

He asked for all things that he might enjoy life; he was given life that he might enjoy all things. He has received nothing that he asked for, all that he hoped for; he prayer is answered. He prayed upon the mountain, He prayed for you and me, He prayed in humble dwellings, He prayed beside the sea. They know not what they do. He prayed for those in sorrow, He prayed for those in sin, He prayed for those in trouble That they might come to Him.

He prayeth best who loveth best All things both great and small; For the great God Who loveth us, He made and loveth all. His promise is our only plea, With this we venture nigh. Before he called the Twelve to Him, He prayed all night alone, And when the day began to dawn, He chose them for His own. Great Commission Prayer League. I'm dreaming of a re-vival, Unlike any seen before Where churches wake up, And prayers they take up, To see God come in His power. I'm praying for a re-vival, Where every neighborhood is touched.

May the Lord be gracious and hear, And bring a revival this year. For the tune go to: 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. 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.

Yea, more, his own hand he seemed Intent to aggravate my woe; Crossed all the fair design I schemed, Blasted my gourds, and laid me low. Shepherd divine, our wants relieve In this our evil day; To all thy tempted followers give The power to trust and pray.

Long as our fiery trials last, Long as the cross we bear; O let our souls on thee be cast, In never-ceasing prayer. I cannot say OUR if my religion has no room for others and their needs. If our faith were but more simple We should take Him at His word, And our lives would be all sunshine In the bounties of our Lord. In such a prayer as this, The blessing I must miss. Or if I only dare To raise this fainting prayer:. My lips shall thus grow dumb, The blessing will not come.

But if I lowly fall, And thus in faith I call;. In themselves as weak as worms, How can poor believers stand, When temptations, foes, and storms, Press them close on every hand? Weak, indeed, they feel they are, But they know the Throne of Grace; And the God who answers prayer, Helps them when they seek his face.

Though the Lord awhile delay, Succour they at length obtain; He who taught their hearts to pray, Will not let them cry in vain.

In the Footsteps of Babur: Musical Encounters from the Lands of the Mughals

Wrestling prayer can wonders do; Bring relief in deepest straits! Prayer can force a passage through Iron bars and brazen gates. For the wonders he has wrought, Let us now our praises give; And, but sweet experience taught, Call upon him while we live.

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I often say my prayers, but do I ever pray? And do the wishes of my heart, go with the words I say?

I might as well kneel down, and worship gods of stone, As offer to the living God, a prayer of words alone. There is a viewless, cloistered room, As high as heaven, as fair as day, Where, though my feet may join the throng, My soul can enter in and pray. And never through those crystal walls The clash of life can pierce its way, Nor ever can a human ear Drink in the spirit-words I say.

I pray for strength, O God! Too bear all loads that on my shoulders press Of thy directing or Thy chastening rod, Lest from their growing stress My spirit sink in utter helplessness. I pray for strength to wait Submissively when I can not see my way, Or if my feet would haste, some close-barred gate Bides my hof seal delay, Or to some by-path turns their steps astray. I will praise Him in the morning, When the day is new and bright, I will praise Him in the noontime, When the sun is at its bright,. I will praise Him for the sunshine, And my blessings every day, I will praise Him in the shadow Of the trials He sends my way.

I will praise Him in the morning, In the evening, all the time. Recorded by George Beverly Shea. In even savage bosoms There are longings, servings, yearnings For the good they comprehend not. And their feeble hands and helpless. To the solitude of prayer God invites His child alone; He delights when you, with meekness And by faith, approach His throne. In the solitude of prayer, That communion of love; God reveals His glorious secrets Planned for you in heaven above.

To the solitude of prayer You must go yourself to hide; Then in peace and joy and gladness Will your heart for sure abide. In the solitude of prayer On your soul He sheds His light; Then you walk with deep assurance In the day and in the night. For thou, within no walls confined, 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 power of prayer To strengthen faith, and sweeten care; To teach our faint desires to rise, And bring all heaven before our eyes. Less than Thyself will not suffice My comfort to restore. A sense of Thine expiring love Into my soul convey; Thyself bestow; for Thee alone I absolutely pray.

Lord, help me live from day to day In such a self-forgetful way, That even when I kneel to pray, My prayer shall be for others. In this blest quietness clamorings cease; Here in Thy presence dwells Infinite peace; Yonder, the strife and cry, Yonder the sin; Lord, I have shut the door, Thou art within! Lord, I have shut the door, Strengthen my heart; Yonder awaits the task - I share a part. Lord, I have wrestled through the livelong night Do no depart, Nor leave me thus in sad and weary plight, Broken in heart; Where shall I turn, if Thou shouldst go away, And leave me here in this cold world to stay?

I have no other help, no food, no light No hand to guide, The night is dark, my home is not in sight, The path untried; I dare not venture in the dark alone— I cannot find my way, if Thou be gone. I will not let The go, except Thou bless. O, help me, Lord, in all my helplessness. Lord, for the lonely heart I pray apart. For lives too bitter to be borne, For the tempted and the torn, For the prisoner in the cell, For the shame lip doth not tell, For the haggard suicide, Peace, peace, this Christmastide. In the desert, trod By the long sick, O God; Into the patient gloom Of that small room Where lies the child of pain Of all neglected most—be fain To enter, healing, and remain.

Now at the fall of day, I bow and pray, For those who cannot sleep I watch I keep. Oh, let the starving brain Be fed and fed again; At Thy behest The tortured nerve find rest. For the empty, aching home, Where the silent footsteps come, Where the unseen face looks on.

Where the hand-clasp is not felt, Where the dearest eyes are gone, Where the portrait on the wall Stirs and struggles as to speak, Where the light breath from the hall Calls the colour to the check, Where the voice breaks in the hymn When the sunset burneth dim, Where the late large tear will start, Frozen by the broken heart, Where the lesson is to learn How to live, to grieve, to yearn, How to bear and how to bow.

Oh, the Christmas that is fled! Lord of living and of dead, Comfort Thou! Lord, I have shut my door!

Inspirational Poems And Stories To Uplift You

Come Thou and visit me; I am alone! My Lord, I kneel with reverent love and fear, For Thou art here. Lord, I have shut the door, speak now the word Which in the din and throng could not be heard Hushed now my inner heart, whisper thy will While I have come apart, while all is still. Lord of the Sabbath, hear us pray, in this your house, on this your day; and own, as grateful sacrifice, the songs which from your temple rise. Now met to pray and bless your name, whose mercies flow each day the same, whose kind compassions never cease, we seek instruction, pardon, peace.

In your blest kingdom we shall be from every mortal trouble free; no sighs shall mingle with the songs resounding from immortal tongues;. No rude alarms of raging foes; no cares to break the long repose; no midnight shade, no waning moon, but sacred, high, eternal noon. O long-expected day, begin dawn on these realms of woe and sin! Philip Doddridge, Alt. By Thomas Cotterill, , and others; mod.

Lord, what a change within us one short hour Spent in Thy presence will prevail to make! What heavy burdens from our bosoms take, What parched grounds refresh, as with a shower! We kneel, and all around us seems to lower; We rise, and all the distant and the near Stands forth in sunny outline, brave and clear. We kneel, how weak! Why, therefore, should we do ourselves this wrong, Or others, that we are not always strong, That we are ever overborne with care, That we should ever weak or heartless be, Anxious or troubled, when with us is prayer, And joy, and strength, and courage are with Thee?

In that one great Spirit meet All things mighty, grave, and sweet. Vainly strives the soul to mingle With a being of our kind; Vainly hearts with hearts are twined, For the deepest still is single. An inpalpable resistance Holds like natures at a distance. More love to thee, O Christ, More love to thee! My bosom was designed to be A house of prayer, O Lord, for thee. A temple undefiled; But vile outrageous thieves broke in, And turned the house into a den, And all its glory spoiled.

There anger lies, and lust, and pride, And envy base its head will hide, And malice brooding ill; There unbelief the Lord denies, And falsehood wispers out its lies, And avarice gripeth still.