 | Early and late poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
A PRAYER.
My weary head hath lain a weary year
On these hot pillows, and most fearful fears
Have made my eyes acquainted with such tears
As lie to utter sadness very near.
On these hot pillows, and most fearful fears
Have made my eyes acquainted with such tears
As lie to utter sadness very near.
No coverlid, with borders like the spring
When roses come, and up and down o'erspread
With golden lilies, maketh fair my bed,
But only darkness is my covering.
When roses come, and up and down o'erspread
With golden lilies, maketh fair my bed,
But only darkness is my covering.
No daybreak gladness cometh with the day—
No pictured saint, so sweet and so divine,
Maketh the corners of my room to shine
When evening falleth round me, cold and gray.
No pictured saint, so sweet and so divine,
Maketh the corners of my room to shine
When evening falleth round me, cold and gray.
Steps, eager once, have taken a listless fall—
And eyes that seemed to give me tender grace
Have found their pleasure in another face—
Only its echo answers back my call.
And eyes that seemed to give me tender grace
Have found their pleasure in another face—
Only its echo answers back my call.
Some dread enchantment, all against my will,
Hath wrought this cruel charm against my life,
And vain are all my struggles, vain my strife—
Hear me, my Master, hear and help me still!
Hath wrought this cruel charm against my life,
And vain are all my struggles, vain my strife—
Hear me, my Master, hear and help me still!
Thou, who to light immortal life didst bring,
Rising from death, to walk and talk with men,
And teach the lesson, all unlearned till then—
The gain of loss and cross and suffering—
Rising from death, to walk and talk with men,
And teach the lesson, all unlearned till then—
The gain of loss and cross and suffering—
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Let not my sinful soul forsaken be!
This is my prayer all night, and all the day,
What is there I have heavier need to say?
My very hopes are only mine through Thee!
This is my prayer all night, and all the day,
What is there I have heavier need to say?
My very hopes are only mine through Thee!
Brother and friend, the dear familiar face,
The eyes beloved—let each and all depart—
Nor shall I yet be sad, or sick of heart,
So Thou but have, and hold me in Thy grace.
The eyes beloved—let each and all depart—
Nor shall I yet be sad, or sick of heart,
So Thou but have, and hold me in Thy grace.
| Early and late poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |