Our Lord, who knows full well
The heart of ev­ery saint;
Invites us, by a pa­ra­ble,
To pray and ne­ver faint.

He bows His gra­cious ear,
We ne­ver plead in vain;
Yet we must wait, till He ap­pear,
And pray, and pray again.

Though un­be­lief sug­gest,
Why should we long­er wait?
He bids us ne­ver give Him rest,
But be im­por­tu­nate.

’Twas thus a wi­dow poor,
Without sup­port or friend,
Beset the un­just judge’s door,
And gained, at last, her end.

For her he lit­tle cared,
As lit­tle for the laws;
Nor God, nor man, did he re­gard,
Yet he es­poused her cause.

She urged him day and night,
Would no de­ni­al take;
At length he said, I’ll do her right,
For my own qui­et sake.

And shall not Je­sus hear
His chos­en, when they cry?
Yes, though He may awhile for­bear,
He’ll help them from on high.

His na­ture, truth and love,
Engage Him on their side;
When they are grieved, His bow­els move,
And can they be de­nied?

Then let us ear­nest be,
And ne­ver faint in pray­er;
He loves our im­por­tu­ni­ty,
And makes our cause His care.