 | The complete poems of S. Weir Mitchell |  |
381
PRAYER
When the day is growing old
And the stars their vigils keep,
Lo, a gentle voice within
Calling to the fold of sleep.
And the stars their vigils keep,
Lo, a gentle voice within
Calling to the fold of sleep.
Whither, thither, know I not:
His the silence, His the care,
When my soul is called to rest,
Shepherded by quiet prayer.
His the silence, His the care,
When my soul is called to rest,
Shepherded by quiet prayer.
| The complete poems of S. Weir Mitchell | |