The Ministry of Intercession
God’s ministers are many,
For this His gracious will,
Remembrances that day and night
This holy office fill.
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.
Oh, if our ears were opened
To hear as angels do
The Intercession-chorus
Arising full and true,
We should hear it soft up-welling
In morning’s pearly light;
Through evening’s shadows swelling
In grandly gathering might;
The sultry silence filling
Of noontide’s thunderous glow,
And the solemn starlight thrilling
With ever-deepening flow.
We should hear it through the rushing
Of the city’s restless roar,
And trace its gently gushing
O’er ocean’s crystal floor;
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-flats,
And the sunny plain resounds again
With the myriad-mingling notes.
Who are the blessed ministers
Of this world-gathering band?
All who have learnt one language,
Through each far-arated land;
All who have learnt the story
Of Jesus’ love and grace,
And are longing for His glory
To shine in every face.
All who have known the Father
In Jesus Christ our Lord.
And know the might and love the light
Of the Spirit in the Word.
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 today!
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 odors sweet are filled,
And in the ministry of prayer
Are wonderfully skilled.
There are ministers unlettered,
Not of Earth’s great and wise,
Yet mighty and unfettered
Their eagle-prayers arise.
Free of the heavenly storehouses
For they hold the master-key
That opens all the fullness
Of God’s great treasury.
They bring the needs of others,
And all things are their own,
For their one grand claim is Jesus’ Name
Before their Father’s throne.
So the incense-cloud ascendeth
As through calm, crystal air,
A pillar reaching unto heaven
Of wreatherd faith and prayer.
For evermore the Angel
Of intercession stands
In His Divine Priesthood
With fragrance-filled hands,
To wave the golden censer
Before His Father’s throne,
With Spirit-fire intenser,
And incense all His own.
And evermore the Father
Sends radiantly down
All-marvelous responses,
His ministers to crown;
The incense-cloud 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 glory all to Jesus Christ,
The gladness all to us!
F. R. Havergal
I especially loved the bolded lines in this poem. Day 30 in the prayer guide I use says to pray for the Holy spirit with the Word of God.
Posted by pray4israel 
Posted by pray4israel 
Posted by pray4israel 
