‘When they were come to the place, which is called Calvary, there they crucified him, and the malefactors, one on the right hand, and the other on the left.’
—Luke 23:33

‘There is a green hill far away,
Without a city wall,
Where the dear Lord was crucified
Who died to save us all.

‘We may not know, we cannot tell,
What pains He had to bear;
But we believe it was for us
He hung and suffered there.

‘He died that we might be forgiven,
He died to make us good,
That we might go at last to heaven,
Saved by His precious blood.

‘There was no other good enough
To pay the price of sin,
He only could unlock the gate
Of heaven, and let us in.

‘O dearly, dearly has He loved,
And we must love Him too,
And trust in His redeeming blood,
And try His works to do.’
—Cecil F. Alexander

‘It came to pass, that, as he was praying in a certain place, when he ceased, one of his disciples said unto him, Lord, teach us to pray, as John also taught his disciples.’
—Luke 11:1

‘Pray’r is the soul’s sincere desire,
Utter’d or unexpress’d,
The motion of a hidden fire
That trembles in the breast.

‘Pray’r is the burden of a sigh,
The falling of a tear;
The upward glancing of an eye,
When none but God is near.

‘Pray’r is the simplest form of speech
That infant lips can try;
Pray’r the sublimest strains that reach
The majesty on high.

‘Pray’r is the christian's vital breath,
The christian’s native air,
His watchword at the gate of death—
He enters heav’n with pray'r.

Pray'r is the contrite sinners’ voice
Returning from his ways,
While angels in their songs rejoice
And say,—“Behold he prays.”’
—James Montgomery

‘Keep me as the apple of the eye, hide me under the shadow of thy wings’
—Psalm 17:8

‘Under his wings I am safely abiding;
Tho' the night deepens and tempests are wild,
Still I can trust him, I know he will keep me;
He has redeemed me and I am his child.

‘Under his wings, under his wings,
Who from his love can sever?
Under his wings my soul shall abide,
Safely abide forever.

‘Under his wings, what a refuge in sorrow!
How the heart yearningly turns to its rest!
Often when earth has no balm for my healing,
There I find comfort, and there I am blest.

‘Under his wings, O what precious enjoyment!
There will I hide till life's trials are o'er;
Sheltered, protected, no evil can harm me;
Resting in Jesus I'm safe evermore.’
–William Cushing