Poems with Power to Strengthen the Soul Part 68

II.

It is true prayer To seek the giver more than gift G.o.d's life to share And love--for this our cry to lift.

It is true faith To simply trust his loving will, Whiche'er he saith-- "Thy lot be glad" or "ill."

It is true praise To bless alike the bright and dark; To sing, all days Alike, with nightingale and lark.

--James W. White.

THE POWER OF PRAYER

Lord, what a change within us one short hour Spent in thy presence will prevail to make; What heavy burdens from our bosoms take; What parched grounds refresh as with a shower!

We kneel--and all about us seems to lower; We rise--and all, the distant and the near, Stands forth in sunny outline, brave and clear.

We kneel, how weak! we rise, how full of power!

Why, therefore, should we do ourselves this wrong, Or others, that we are not always strong; That we are ever overborne with care, Anxious and troubled, when with us is prayer, And joy and strength and courage are with thee?

--Richard Chenevix Trench.

Asked and unasked, thy heavenly gifts unfold, And evil, though we ask it, Lord, withhold.

--Homer, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.

MARY OF BETHANY

Her eyes are homes of silent prayer, Nor other thought her mind admits But, he was dead, and there he sits.

And he that brought him back is there.

Then one deep love doth supersede All other, when her ardent gaze Roves from the living brother's face And rests upon the Life indeed.

All subtle thought, all curious fears.

Borne down by gladness so complete, She bows, she bathes the Saviour's feet With costly spikenard and with tears.

Thrice blest whose lives are faithful prayers, Whose loves in higher love endure; What souls possess themselves so pure, Or is there blessedness like theirs?

--Alfred Tennyson.

PRAYER ITS OWN ANSWER

"Allah, Allah!" cried the sick man, racked with pain the long night through; Till with prayer his heart was tender, till his lips like honey grew.

But at morning came the Tempter; said, "Call louder, child of pain!

See if Allah ever hear, or answer 'Here am I' again."

Like a stab the cruel cavil through his brain and pulses went; To his heart an icy coldness, to his brain a darkness, sent.

Then before him stands Elias; says "My child! why thus dismayed?

Dost repent thy former fervor? Is thy soul of prayer afraid?"

"Ah!" he cried, "I've called so often; never heard the 'Here am I'; And I thought, G.o.d will not pity, will not turn on me his eye."

Then the grave Elias answered, "G.o.d said, 'Rise, Elias, go, Speak to him, the sorely tempted; lift him from his gulf of woe.

"'Tell him that his very longing is itself an answering cry; That his prayer, "Come, gracious Allah," is my answer, "Here am I"'.

"Every inmost aspiration is G.o.d's angel undefiled; And in every 'O my Father!' slumbers deep a 'Here, my child!'"

--Jelal-ed-Deen, tr. by James Freeman Clarke.

THE CONTENTS OF PIETY

"Allah!" was all night long the cry of one oppressed with care, Till softened was his heart, and sweet became his lips with prayer.

Then near the subtle tempter stole, and spake: "Fond babbler, cease!

For not one 'Here am I' has G.o.d e'er sent to give thee peace."

With sorrow sank the suppliant's soul and all his senses fled.

But lo! at midnight, the good angel, Chiser, came, and said: "What ails thee now, my child, and why art thou afraid to pray?

And why thy former love dost thou repent? declare and say."

"Ah!" cries he, "never once spake G.o.d to me, 'Here am I, son.'

Cast off methinks I am, and warned far from his gracious throne."

To whom the angel answered, "Hear the word from G.o.d I bear: 'Go tell,' he said, 'yon mourner, sunk in sorrow and despair, Each "Lord, appear!" thy lips p.r.o.nounce contains my "Here am I"; A special messenger I send beneath thine every sigh; Thy love is but a guerdon of the love I bear to thee.

And sleeping in thy "Come, O Lord!" there lies "Here, son!" from me.'"

--Oriental, tr. by William Rounseville Alger.

He prayeth well who loveth well Both man and bird and beast.

He prayeth best who loveth best All things, both great and small; For the dear G.o.d who loveth us He made and loveth all.

--Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

ADORATION

I love my G.o.d, but with no love of mine, For I have none to give; I love thee, Lord, but all the love is thine For by thy love I live.

I am as nothing, and rejoice to be Emptied and lost and swallowed up in thee.

Thou, Lord, alone art all thy children need, And there is none beside; From thee the streams of blessedness proceed, In thee the blest abide-- Fountain of life and all-abounding grace, Our source, our center, and our dwelling place.

--Madame Guyon.

WALKING WITH G.o.d

O Master, let me walk with thee In lowly paths of service free; Tell me thy secret; help me bear The strain of toil, the fret of care.