A Prayer for Your Pastor on Sunday Evening
Frances Ridley Havergal (1836-1879) was a English hymn writer. She gave her soul to Christ at a young age and went on to live a quiet life of devotion to Christ. In addition to her many poems and hymns, including “Take My Life and Let it Be” or “Consecration Hymn,” she wrote other short devotional and evangelistic works.
As the daughter of a vicar, Frances Havergal was uniquely equipped to write about the unseen needs of a minister of the gospel. In the poem below, “Sunday Night,” she offers an insightful prayer for a minister on Sunday evening. This Pastor’s Appreciation Month, may Havergal’s words guide and inspire you as you wrestle in prayer on behalf of the earthly shepherds of your soul.
Rest him, O Father! Thou didst send him forth
With great and gracious messages of love;
But Thy ambassador is weary now,
Worn with the weight of his high embassy.
Now care for him as Thou hast cared for us
In sending him; and cause him to lie down
In Thy fresh pastures, by Thy streams of peace.
Let Thy left hand be now beneath his head,
And Thine upholding right encircle him
And, underneath, the everlasting arms
Be felt in full support. So let him rest,
Hushed like a little child, without one care;
And so give Thy belovéd sleep tonight.
Rest him, dear Master! He hath poured for us
The wine of joy, and we have been refreshed.
Now fill his chalice, give him sweet new draughts
Of life and love, with Thine own hand; be Thou
His ministrant tonight; draw very near
In all Thy tenderness and all Thy power.
Oh, speak to him! Thou knowest how to speak
A word in season to weary ones,
And he is weary now. Thou lovest him—
Let Thy disciple lean upon Thy breast,
And, leaning, gain new strength to “rise and shine.”
Rest him, O loving Spirit! Let Thy calm
Fall on his soul tonight. O holy Dove,
Spread Thy bright wing above him, let him rest
Beneath its shadow; let him know afresh
The infinite truth and might of Thy dear name—
”Our Comforter!” As gentlest touch will stay
The strong vibrations of a jarring chord,
So lay Thy hand upon his heart, and still
Each over-straining throb, each pulsing pain.
Then, in the stillness, breath upon the strings,
And let Thy holy music overflow
With soothing power his listening, resting soul.