 | [Poems by Cary in] The Poetical Works Of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
A PRAYER.
I have been little used to frame
Wishes to speech and call it prayer;
To-day, my Father, in thy name,
I ask to have my soul stript bare
Of all its vain pretense,—to see
Myself, as I am seen by thee.
Wishes to speech and call it prayer;
To-day, my Father, in thy name,
I ask to have my soul stript bare
Of all its vain pretense,—to see
Myself, as I am seen by thee.
I want to know how much the pain
And passion here, its powers abate;
To take its thoughts, a tangled skein,
And stretch them out all smooth and straight;
To track its wavering course through sin
And sorrow, to its origin.
And passion here, its powers abate;
To take its thoughts, a tangled skein,
And stretch them out all smooth and straight;
To track its wavering course through sin
And sorrow, to its origin.
I want to know if in the night
Of evil, grace doth so abound,
That from its darkness we draw light,
As flowers do beauty from the ground;
Or, if the sins of time shall be
The shadows of eternity.
Of evil, grace doth so abound,
That from its darkness we draw light,
As flowers do beauty from the ground;
Or, if the sins of time shall be
The shadows of eternity.
I want, though only for an hour,
To be myself,—to get more near
The wondrous mystery and power
Of love, whose echoes floating here,
Between us and the waiting grave,
Make all of light, of heaven, we have.
To be myself,—to get more near
The wondrous mystery and power
Of love, whose echoes floating here,
Between us and the waiting grave,
Make all of light, of heaven, we have.
| [Poems by Cary in] The Poetical Works Of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |