God of Our Weary Years (1921)

This poem from James Weldon Johnson's pen should have a familiar ring to it.

God of our weary years,
God of our silent tears,
Thou who has brought us thus far on the way.

Thou who wast by Thy might
Led us into the light,
Keep us forever in the path, we pray;

Lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we met Thee,
Lest, our hearts drunk with the wine of the world, we forget Thee.

Shadowed beneath Thy hand,
May we forever stand
True to our God, true to our native land!

From Conversations with God: Two Centuries of Prayers by African Americans, by James Melvin Washington, Ph.D.

"A Prayer for the Nations"

The following is entitled "A Prayer for the Nations," and was penned and prayed in 1918 by Walter Henderson Brooks.

As of old Jehovah's working
Out of his will, in every land,
And it runs through all the ages,
Like a weaver's hidden strand.

Centuries with God are moments,
And a thousand years a day;
Kingdoms rise and wane and perish,
Others come and pass away.

'Tis not wealth alone, nor numbers,
Justice makes a people strong,
Righteousness exalts a nation,
Victories to God belong.

Give us then, O God, thy blessing!
We rely upon thy might,
Gird our men, and make them heroes,
Glorify the Cause of Right.

From Conversations with God: Two Centuries of Prayers by African Americans, by James Melvin Washington, Ph.D.

Storm-Beaten (1908)

Here is a prayer written and prayed by Clara Ann Thompson, published in James Melvin Washington's Conversations with God: Two Centuries of Prayers by African Americans.

Storm-Beaten

Weary, worn, and sorrow-laden

Jesus, I have come to Thee;

Shield me from the darts of Satan;

Set my fettered spirit free.

Hearken to my plea for guidance,

As I kneel before thy throne;

Cheer me with Thy Holy Presence,

When I feel I'm all alone.

Struggling with the cares that press me,

Falling, when I fain would stand,

Thou alone, canst guide and keep me,

Take, oh take my trembling hand!

Pity Thou my many failings!

Strengthen Thou my falt'ring trust;

Keep me, 'mid the wind's loud wailing,

Thou, the Pitiful and Just!

A Familiar Prayer

Oh Lord, we come this morning knee bowed and body bent before thy throne of grace. We come this morning Lord, like empty pitchers before a full fountain, realizing that many who are better by nature than we are by practice, have passed into the great beyond and yet you have allowed us your humble servants to plod along just a few days longer here in this howling wilderness. We thank thee Lord that when we arose this morning, our bed was not a cooling board, and our sheet was not a winding shroud. We are not gathered here for form or fashion, but we come in our humble way to serve thee. We thank thee Lord that we are clothed in our right mind--Bless the sick and afflicted--those who are absent through no fault of their own. And when I have done prayed my last prayer and sung my last song, and when I'm done climbing the rough side of the mountain, when I come down to tread the steep and prickly banks of Jordan, meet me with thy rod and they staff and bear me safely over. All these things I ask in Jesus' name, world without end, Amen.

Prayer of J. G. St. Clair Drake (1940) from James Melvin Washington, Conversations with God: Two Centuries of Prayers by African Americans.

Precious Lord, Take My Hand

"Precious Lord, take my hand,
Lead me on, let me stand,
I am tired, I am weak, I am worn;
Thru the storm, thru the night,
Lead me on to the light,
Take my hand, precious Lord,
Lead me home.

When my way grows drear, precious Lord, linger near,
When my life is almost gone,
Hear my cry, hear my call,
Hold my hand lest I fall;
Take my hand, precious Lord,
Lead me home.

When the darkness appears and the night draws near,
And the day is past and gone,
At the river I stand,
Guide my feet, hold my hand;
Take my hand, precious Lord,
Lead me home."

James Melvin Washington, in Conversations with God: Two Centuries of Prayers by African Americans, says that Thomas Andrew Dorsey wrote these words in 1932 not long after his wife, Nettie, and son, Thomas, Jr., died during childbirth.

A Pastoral Prayer of Martin Luther King, Jr.

"Oh, God, our Heavenly Father, we thank thee for this golden privilege to worship thee, the only true God of the universe. We come to thee today, grateful that thou hast kept us through the long night of the past and ushered us into the challenge of the present and the bright hope of the future. We are mindful, O God, that man cannot save himself, for man is not the measure of things and humanity is not God. Bound by our chains of sins and finiteness, we know we need a Savior. We thank thee, O God, for the spiritual nature of man. We are in nature but we live above nature. Help us never to let anybody or any condition pull us so low as to cause us to hate. Give us strength to love our enemies and to do good to those who despitefully use us and persecute us. We thank thee for thy Church, founded upon thy Word, that challenges us to do more than sing and pray, but go out and work as though the very answer to our prayers depended on us and not upon thee. Then, finally, help us to realize that man was created to shine like stars and live on through eternity. Keep us, we pray, in perfect peace, help us to walk together, pray together, sing together, and live together until that day when all God's children, Black, White, Red, and Yellow will rejoice in one common band of humanity in the Kingdom of our Lord and of our God, we pray. Amen."

From Conversations with God: Two Centuries of Prayers by African Americans, by James Melvin Washington.

A Bold Prayer: 'Black Men"

You've read a previous article here by Shena Sandle, one of our first year MFT students here at ACU. With her permission, here is a moving piece of prose, turned to poetry, ending with a prayer:

"There is probably nothing as beautiful as a black man. So much strength, power, and beauty in one creature. There is not a shortage of black men, at least not in my neighborhood. I pass them everyday and marvel at how God created them. So much purpose in one body, in one soul. He has the power to change so much, to ravage the social structures. To call things as they were, as they are. To make the seasons change.

But with the awe comes a sadness. He does not know it. He does not know his power, his strength. He's been crushed from the day he was born. I looked in his eyes and saw promise and I destined him to despair. I felt saddened that I, his biggest fan, his largest supporter, even wobbled on who he would be.

If I could just touch him. If I could just let that black man know that I believed in him. That I don't see a drug dealer or a baby's daddy. That Maury has no influence and nor does the Essence magazine's latest rant on him choosing a white woman. My God, you are perfect. You are beautiful. You are everything.

You excite me, Black man. I pray for you daily. My hope is for you. My love is for you. You will overcome because it is in His plan for you, my love.

I need you. We need you. Your children. Your community. Your self. Come on, Black man. Don't believe the hype. Don't believe what you've been told or sold. You are enough. Put the bag down, listen to me. It takes skill to do what you do, even if it is a felony. If that skill could only be used for who you're supposed to be.

Enough, Black man. I love you, Black man. If only enough of us would tell you we love you, Black man. With my own tears, I cry for you Black man. If only I could touch you… but there's places in you femininity could never reach. If only God had given me one more rib to be more like you.

Your surroundings are not you, Black man. The neighborhood is not you. But please… please don't get up and leave, Black man. We need you here. We need you to learn and grow here.

We need your shade, Jesus. Jesus, plant yourself here so that we can rest under your branches. So that we can eat of your fruit. So that we taste of it and be filled and healed.

My God, my Lord… if only this Black man could see that You and he… that he is You because you are in Him. This is not a fallacy. My God, we need You. We need Him. We need to be we again. Touch my Black man. Love my Black man. Hear his cries. Hear our cries.

We need him."

Shena Sandle
First Year Intern
MFT/ACU