The Poetry Corner

Prayer.

By Sophie M. (Almon) Hensley

I stood upon a hill, and watched the death Of the day's turmoil. Still the glory spread Cloud-top to cloud-top, and each rearing head Trembled to crimson. So a mighty breath From some wild Titan in a rising ire Might kindle flame in voicing his desire. Soft stirred the evening air; the pine-crowned hills Glowed in an answering rapture where the flush Grew to a blood-drop, and the vesper hush Moved in my soul, while from my life all ills Faded and passed away. God's voice was there And in my heart the silence was a prayer. There was a day when to my fearfulness Was born a joy, when doubt was swept afar A shadow and a memory, and a star Gleamed in my sky more bright for the distress. The stillness breathed thanksgiving, and the air Wafted, methought, the incense of a prayer. Heaven sets no bounds of bead-roll or appeal; And when the fiery heart with mute embrace Bends, tremblingly, but for a moment's space It needs no words that cry, no limbs that kneel. As meteors flash, so, in a moment's light, Life, darting forth, touches the Infinite. All my prayers wordless? Nay, I can recall A night not so long past but that each thought Lives at this hour, and throbs again unsought When Silence broods, and Night's chill shadows fall; Then Darkness' thousand pulses thrilled and stirred With the dear grace of a remembered word; And I was still, thy voice enshrouding me. Like the strong sweep of ocean-breath the power Of one resistless thought transformed my hour Of love-dreams to a fear. All hopelessly I knew love's impotence, and my despair Stretched soul-hands forth, and quivered to a prayer. My passionate heart cried out: "If his dear life Through stress of keen temptation merits aught Of penance or requital, be it wrought Upon my life. If only through the strife Is won the peace, through drudgery the gain, Give him the issue, and to me the pain!" Some day, in our soul's course o'er trackless lands, Swayed oft by adverse winds, or swept along In Fate's wild current with the fluttering throng Towards Sin's engulfing maelstrom, spirit hands Will brace our trembling wings, and through the night Point and upbear in our last trembling flight.