 | [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
259
A PRAYER.
Forgive me, God! forgive thy child, I pray,
And if I sin, thy holy spirit move
My heart to better moods: I cannot say,
Disjoin my human heart from human love!
And if I sin, thy holy spirit move
My heart to better moods: I cannot say,
Disjoin my human heart from human love!
If, in the rainy woods, the traveler sees,
Through some black gap, a splendor fair and white,
Shining beneath the wild rough-rinded trees,
His steps turn thither. Through the infinite
Through some black gap, a splendor fair and white,
Shining beneath the wild rough-rinded trees,
His steps turn thither. Through the infinite
Of darkness that would else be, as we pass
From silence into silence, round our way,
Love shineth so. Doth not the mower stay
His scythe, if that a bird be in the grass?
From silence into silence, round our way,
Love shineth so. Doth not the mower stay
His scythe, if that a bird be in the grass?
If God be love, then love is likest God,
And our low natures the divineness mock,
If, when we hear the blest “Arise and walk,”
We turn our faces back against the sod.
And our low natures the divineness mock,
If, when we hear the blest “Arise and walk,”
We turn our faces back against the sod.
The plowman, tired, among the furrowed corn,
Leans on the ox's shoulder; done with play,
Childhood among the daisies drops away
Into the lap of sleep, and dreams till morn.
Leans on the ox's shoulder; done with play,
Childhood among the daisies drops away
Into the lap of sleep, and dreams till morn.
It is as if, when angels had their birth,
The one with heaviest glory on its wings,
Dropt from its proper sphere into the earth,
Where, piteous of our mortal needs, it sings.
The one with heaviest glory on its wings,
Dropt from its proper sphere into the earth,
Where, piteous of our mortal needs, it sings.
Sings sweeter melodies than winds do make,
Playing their dulcimers for the young May;
Blessed Forever! if sometimes I take
Their beauty round my heart—forgive, I pray!
Playing their dulcimers for the young May;
Blessed Forever! if sometimes I take
Their beauty round my heart—forgive, I pray!
| [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |