Poems with Power to Strengthen the Soul

by Unknown

PRAYER

When prayer delights thee least, then learn to say,

Soul, now is greatest need that thou should'st pray:

Crooked and warped I am, and I would fain

Straighten myself by thy right line again.

Oh, come, warm sun, and ripen my late fruits;

Pierce, genial showers, down to my parchèd roots.

My well is bitter, cast therein the tree,

That sweet henceforth its brackish waves may be.

Say, what is prayer, when it is prayer indeed?

The mighty utterance of a mighty need.

The man is praying who doth press with might

Out of his darkness into God's own light.

White heat the iron in the furnace won,

Withdrawn from thence 'twas cold and hard anon.

Flowers, from their stalk divided, presently

Droop, fall, and wither in the gazer's eye.

The greenest leaf, divided from its stem,

To speedy withering doth itself condemn.

The largest river, from its fountain-head

Cut off, leaves soon a parched and dusty bed.

All things that live from God their sustenance wait,

And sun and moon are beggars at his gate.

All skirts extended of thy mantle hold

When angel hands from heaven are scattering gold.

—Richard Chenevix Trench.

———

MEANING OF PRAYER

One thing, alone, dear Lord, I dread—

To have a secret spot

That separates my soul from thee,

And yet to know it not.

Prayer was not meant for luxury,

Or selfish pastime sweet;

It is the prostrate creature's place

At his Creator's feet.

But if this waiting long hath come

A present from on high,

Teach me to find the hidden wealth

That in its depths may lie.

So in the darkness I can learn

To tremble and adore;

To sound my own vile nothingness,

And thus to love thee more.

—Frederick William Faber.

———

TALKING WITH GOD

To stretch my hand and touch Him

Though he be far away;

To raise my eyes and see him

Through darkness as through day;

To lift my voice and call him—

This is to pray!

To feel a hand extended

By One who standeth near;

To view the love that shineth

In eyes serene and clear;

To know that he is calling—

This is to hear!

—Samuel W. Duffield.

———

MY PRAYER

Being perplexed, I say,

"Lord, make it right!

Night is as day to thee,

Darkness is light.

I am afraid to touch

Things that involve so much;

My trembling hand may shake—

My skillful hand may break;

Thine can make no mistake."

Being in doubt, I say,

"Lord, make it plain!

Which is the true, safe way?

Which would be vain?

I am not wise to know,

Nor sure of foot to go;

My blind eyes cannot see

What is so clear to thee.

Lord, make it clear to me."

———

THE SOURCE OF POWER

There is an eye that never sleeps

Beneath the wing of night;

There is an ear that never shuts

When sink the beams of light.

There is an arm that never tires

When human strength gives way;

There is a love that never fails

When earthly loves decay.

That eye is fixed on seraph throngs;

That arm upholds the sky;

That ear is filled with angel songs,

That love is throned on high.

But there's a power which man can wield

When mortal aid is vain,

That eye, that arm, that love to reach,

That listening ear to gain.

That power is prayer, which soars on high,

Through Jesus, to the throne,

And moves the hand which moves the world,

To bring salvation down.

—James Cowden Wallace.

———

DIFFERENT PRAYERS

Three doors there are in the temple

Where men go up to pray,

And they that wait at the outer gate

May enter by either way.

There are some that pray by asking;

They lie on the Master's breast,

And, shunning the strife of the lower life,

They utter their cry for rest.

There are some that pray by seeking;

They doubt where their reason fails;

But their mind's despair is the ancient prayer

To touch the print of the nails.

There are some that pray by knocking;

They put their strength to the wheel

For they have not time for thoughts sublime;

They can only act what they feel.

Father, give each his answer,

Each in his kindred way;

Adapt thy light to his form of night

And grant him his needed day.

—William Watson.

———

TRUE PRAYER

I.

It is not prayer,

This clamor of our eager wants

That fills the air

With wearying, selfish plaints.

It is not faith

To boldly count all gifts as ours—

The pride that saith,

"For me his wealth he ever showers."

It is not praise

To call to mind our happier lot,

And boast bright days,

God-favored, with all else forgot.

II.

It is true prayer

To seek the giver more than gift

God's life to share

And love—for this our cry to lift.

It is true faith

To simply trust his loving will,

Whiche'er he saith—

"Thy lot be glad" or "ill."

It is true praise

To bless alike the bright and dark;

To sing, all days

Alike, with nightingale and lark.

—James W. White.

———

THE POWER OF PRAYER

Lord, what a change within us one short hour

Spent in thy presence will prevail to make;

What heavy burdens from our bosoms take;

What parchèd grounds refresh as with a shower!

We kneel—and all about us seems to lower;

We rise—and all, the distant and the near,

Stands forth in sunny outline, brave and clear.

We kneel, how weak! we rise, how full of power!

Why, therefore, should we do ourselves this wrong,

Or others, that we are not always strong;

That we are ever overborne with care,

Anxious and troubled, when with us is prayer,

And joy and strength and courage are with thee?

—Richard Chenevix Trench.

———

Asked and unasked, thy heavenly gifts unfold,

And evil, though we ask it, Lord, withhold.

—Homer, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.

———

MARY OF BETHANY

Her eyes are homes of silent prayer,

Nor other thought her mind admits

But, he was dead, and there he sits.

And he that brought him back is there.

Then one deep love doth supersede

All other, when her ardent gaze

Roves from the living brother's face

And rests upon the Life indeed.

All subtle thought, all curious fears.

Borne down by gladness so complete,

She bows, she bathes the Saviour's feet

With costly spikenard and with tears.

Thrice blest whose lives are faithful prayers,

Whose loves in higher love endure;

What souls possess themselves so pure,

Or is there blessedness like theirs?

—Alfred Tennyson.

———

PRAYER ITS OWN ANSWER

"Allah, Allah!" cried the sick man, racked with pain the long night through;

Till with prayer his heart was tender, till his lips like honey grew.

But at morning came the Tempter; said, "Call louder, child of pain!

See if Allah ever hear, or answer 'Here am I' again."

Like a stab the cruel cavil through his brain and pulses went;

To his heart an icy coldness, to his brain a darkness, sent.

Then before him stands Elias; says "My child! why thus dismayed?

Dost repent thy former fervor? Is thy soul of prayer afraid?"

"Ah!" he cried, "I've called so often; never heard the 'Here am I';

And I thought, God will not pity, will not turn on me his eye."

Then the grave Elias answered, "God said, 'Rise, Elias, go,

Speak to him, the sorely tempted; lift him from his gulf of woe.

"'Tell him that his very longing is itself an answering cry;

That his prayer, "Come, gracious Allah," is my answer, "Here am I"'.

"Every inmost aspiration is God's angel undefiled;

And in every 'O my Father!' slumbers deep a 'Here, my child!'"

—Jelal-ed-Deen, tr. by James Freeman Clarke.

———

THE CONTENTS OF PIETY

"Allah!" was all night long the cry of one oppressed with care,

Till softened was his heart, and sweet became his lips with prayer.

Then near the subtle tempter stole, and spake:

"Fond babbler, cease!

For not one 'Here am I' has God e'er sent to give thee peace."

With sorrow sank the suppliant's soul and all his senses fled.

But lo! at midnight, the good angel, Chiser, came, and said:

"What ails thee now, my child, and why art thou afraid to pray?

And why thy former love dost thou repent? declare and say."

"Ah!" cries he, "never once spake God to me, 'Here am I, son.'

Cast off methinks I am, and warned far from his gracious throne."

To whom the angel answered, "Hear the word from God I bear:

'Go tell,' he said, 'yon mourner, sunk in sorrow and despair,

Each "Lord, appear!" thy lips pronounce contains my "Here am I";

A special messenger I send beneath thine every sigh;

Thy love is but a guerdon of the love I bear to thee.

And sleeping in thy "Come, O Lord!" there lies "Here, son!" from me.'"

—Oriental, tr. by William Rounseville Alger.

———

He prayeth well who loveth well

Both man and bird and beast.

He prayeth best who loveth best

All things, both great and small;

For the dear God who loveth us

He made and loveth all.

—Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

———

ADORATION

I love my God, but with no love of mine,

For I have none to give;

I love thee, Lord, but all the love is thine

For by thy love I live.

I am as nothing, and rejoice to be

Emptied and lost and swallowed up in thee.

Thou, Lord, alone art all thy children need,

And there is none beside;

From thee the streams of blessedness proceed,

In thee the blest abide—

Fountain of life and all-abounding grace,

Our source, our center, and our dwelling place.

—Madame Guyon.

———

WALKING WITH GOD

O Master, let me walk with thee

In lowly paths of service free;

Tell me thy secret; help me bear

The strain of toil, the fret of care.

Help me the slow of heart to move

By some clear, winning word of love;

Teach me the wayward feet to stay,

And guide them in the homeward way.

Teach me thy patience! still with Thee

In closer, dearer company:

In work that keeps faith sweet and strong,

In trust that triumphs over wrong.

In hope that sends a shining ray

Far down the future's broadening way;

In peace that only thou canst give,

With thee, O Master, let me live.

—Washington Gladden.

———

There was a man who prayed

For wisdom that he might

Sway men from sinful ways

And lead them into light.

Each night he knelt and asked the Lord

To let him guide the sinful horde.

And every day he rose again,

To idly drift along,

One of the many common men

Who form the common throng.

———

GRANTED OR DENIED

To long with all our longing powers,

And have the wish denied;

To urge and strain our force in vain

Against the unresting tide

Of fate and circumstance, which still

Baffles and beats and thwarts our will;

To reach the goal toward which we strove

All the long way and hard;

To win the prize which, to our eyes,

Seemed life's one best reward—

Love's rose, Fame's laurel, olived Peace,

The gold-fruit of Hesperides—

And then to find the prize all vain,

The joys all empty made—

To taste the sting in each sweet thing,

To watch Love's roses fade,

The fruit to ashes turn, the gold

To worthless dross within our hold!

Now which has most of grief and pain,

Which is the worse to bear:

The joy we crave and never have,

Or the curse of the granted prayer?

The baffled wish or the bitter rue—

Could our hearts choose between the two?

O will of God, thou blessèd will!

Which, like a balmèd air,

The breath of souls about us rolls,

Touching us everywhere,

Imparting, like a soft caress,

Healing, and help, and tenderness,

O will of God, be thou our will!

Then, come or joy or pain,

Made one with thee it cannot be

That we shall wish in vain,

And, whether granted or denied,

Our hearts shall be all satisfied.

—Susan Coolidge.

———

OUT OF TOUCH

Only a smile, yes, only a smile

That a woman o'erburdened with grief

Expected from you; 'twould have given relief,

For her heart ached sore the while;

But weary and cheerless she went away,

Because, as it happened, that very day

You were "out of touch" with your Lord.

Only a word, yes, only a word,

That the Spirit's small voice whispered "Speak";

But the worker passed onward unblessed and weak

Whom you were meant to have stirred

To courage, devotion, and love anew,

Because when the message came to you

You were "out of touch" with your Lord.

Only a note, yes, only a note

To a friend in a distant land.

The Spirit said "Write," but then you had planned

Some different work, and you thought

It mattered little. You did not know

'Twould have saved a soul from sin and woe;

You were "out of touch" with your Lord.

Only a song, yes, only a song

That the Spirit said "Sing to-night;

Thy voice is thy Master's by purchased right";

But you thought, "'Mid this motley throng

I care not to sing of the city of gold"—

And the heart that your words might have reached grew cold;

You were "out of touch" with your Lord.

Only a day, yes, only a day!

But oh, can you guess, my friend,

Where the influence reaches, and where it will end

Of the hours that you frittered away?

The Master's command is "Abide in me"

And fruitless and vain will your service be

If "out of touch" with your Lord.

—Jean H. Watson.

———

Prayer is Innocence's friend; and willingly flieth incessant

'Twixt the earth and the sky, the carrier-pigeon of heaven.

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

———

We may question with wand of science,

Explain, decide, and discuss;

But only in meditation

The Mystery speaks to us.

—John Boyle O'Reilly.

———

THE VALLEY OF SILENCE

I walk down the Valley of Silence,

Down the dim, voiceless valley alone!

And I hear not the fall of a footstep

Around me—save God's and my own!

And the hush of my heart is as holy

As hovers where angels have flown.

Long ago was I weary of voices

Whose music my heart could not win;

Long ago was I weary of noises

That fretted my soul with their din;

Long ago was I weary of places

Where I met but the human and sin.

And still did I pine for the perfect,

And still found the false with the true;

I sought 'mid the human for heaven,

But caught a mere glimpse of the blue;

And I wept when the clouds of the world veiled

Even that glimpse from my view.

And I toiled on, heart-tired of the human,

And I moaned 'mid the mazes of men,

Till I knelt, long ago, at an altar,

And heard a Voice call me. Since then

I walk down the Valley of Silence

That lies far beyond mortal ken.

Do you ask what I found in the Valley?

'Tis my trysting place with the Divine.

When I fell at the feet of the Holy,

And about me a voice said, "Be mine,"

There arose from the depths of my spirit

An echo: "My heart shall be thine."

Do you ask how I live in the Valley?

I weep, and I dream, and I pray;

But my tears are as sweet as the dew-drops

That fall on the roses in May;

And my prayer, like a perfume from censer,

Ascendeth to God night and day.

In the hush of the Valley of Silence,

I dream all the songs that I sing;

And the music floats down the dim valley

Till each finds a word for a wing,

That to men, like the doves of the deluge

The message of peace they may bring.

But far out on the deep there are billows

That never shall break on the beach;

And I have heard songs in the silence

That never shall float into speech;

And I have had dreams in the valley

Too lofty for language to reach.

And I have seen thoughts in the valley—

Ah, me! how my spirit was stirred!

And they wear holy veils on their faces—

Their footsteps can scarcely be heard;

They pass through the valley like virgins

Too pure for the touch of a word.

Do you ask me the place of the Valley,

Ye hearts that are harrowed by care?

It lieth afar, between mountains,

And God and his angels are there;

And one is the dark Mount of Sorrow,

The other, the bright Mount of Prayer.

—Abram Joseph Ryan.

———

HELP THOU MY UNBELIEF

Because I seek thee not O seek thou me!

Because my lips are dumb O hear the cry

I do not utter as thou passest by,

And from my lifelong bondage set me free!

Because, content, I perish far from thee,

O seize me, snatch me from my fate and try

My soul in thy consuming fire! Draw nigh

And let me, blinded, thy salvation see.

If I were pouring at thy feet my tears,

If I were clamoring to see thy face,

I should not need thee, Lord, as now I need,

Whose dumb, dead soul knows neither hopes nor fears,

Nor dreads the outer darkness of this place.

Because I seek not, pray not, give thou heed.

———

PHARISEE AND PUBLICAN

Two went to pray? O, rather say

One went to brag, the other to pray;

One stands up close and treads on high,

Where the other dares not lend his eye;

One nearer to God's altar trod,

The other to the altar's God.

—Richard Crashaw.

———

A MOMENT IN THE MORNING

A moment in the morning, ere the cares of the day begin,

Ere the heart's wide door is open for the world to enter in,

Ah, then, alone with Jesus, in the silence of the morn,

In heavenly sweet communion, let your duty-day be born.

In the quietude that blesses with a prelude of repose

Let your soul be smoothed and softened, as the dew revives the rose.

A moment in the morning take your Bible in your hand,

And catch a glimpse of glory from the peaceful promised land:

It will linger still before you when you seek the busy mart,

And like flowers of hope will blossom into beauty in your heart.

The precious words, like jewels, will glisten all the day

With a rare effulgent glory that will brighten all the way;

When comes a sore temptation, and your feet are near a snare,

You may count them like a rosary and make each one a prayer.

A moment in the morning—a moment, if no more—

Is better than an hour when the trying day is o'er.

'Tis the gentle dew from heaven, the manna for the day;

If you fail to gather early—alas! it melts away.

So, in the blush of morning, take the offered hand of love,

And walk in heaven's pathway and the peacefulness thereof.

—Arthur Lewis Tubbs.

———

AN INVITATION TO PRAYER

Come to the morning prayer,

Come, let us kneel and pray;

Prayer is the Christian pilgrim's staff

To walk with God all day.

At noon, beneath the Rock

Of Ages rest and pray;

Sweet is the shadow from the heat

When the sun smites by day.

At eve, shut to the door,

Round the home altar pray;

And finding there "the house of God"

At "heaven's gate" close the day.

When midnight seals our eyes,

Let each in spirit say,

"I sleep, but my heart waketh, Lord,

With thee to watch and pray."

—James Montgomery.

———

SELFISH PRAYER

How we, poor players on life's little stage,

Thrust blindly at each other in our rage,

Quarrel and fret, yet rashly dare to pray

To God to keep us on our selfish way.

We think to move him with our prayer and praise

To serve our needs, as in the old Greek days

Their gods came down and mingled in the fight

With mightier arms the flying foe to smite.

The laughter of those gods pealed down to man;

For heaven was but earth's upper story then,

Where goddesses about an apple strove

And the high gods fell humanly in love.

We own a God whose presence fills the sky;

Whose sleepless eyes behold the worlds roll by;

Whose faithful memory numbers, one by one,

The sons of man, and calls them each his son.

—Louise Chandler Moulton.

———

To make rough places plain, and crooked straight;

To help the weak; to envy not the strong;

To make the earth a sweeter dwelling place,

In little ways, or if we may, in great,

And in the world to help the heavenly song,

We pray, Lord Jesus, grant to us thy grace!

———

THE TWO RELIGIONS

A woman sat by a hearthside place

Reading a book, with a pleasant face,

Till a child came up, with a childish frown,

And pushed the book, saying, "Put it down."

Then the mother, slapping his curly head,

Said, "Troublesome child, go off to bed;

A great deal of Christ's life I must know

To train you up as a child should go."

And the child went off to bed to cry,

And denounce religion—by and by.

Another woman bent over a book

With a smile of joy and an intent look,

Till a child came up and jogged her knee,

And said of the book, "Put it down—take me."

Then the mother sighed as she stroked his head,

Saying softly, "I never shall get it read:

But I'll try by loving to learn His will,

And his love into my child instill."

That child went to bed without a sigh,

And will love religion—by and by.

———

A LIFE HID WITH CHRIST

I have a life with Christ to live;

But ere I live it must I wait

Till learning can clear answer give

Of this or that book's date?

I have a life in Christ to live,

I have a death in Christ to die;

And must I wait till science give

All doubts a full reply?

Nay, rather, while the sea of doubt

Is raging wildly round about,

Questioning of life and death and sin,

Let me but creep within

Thy fold, O Christ, and at thy feet

Take but the lowest seat,

And hear thine awful voice repeat

In gentlest accents, heavenly sweet,

"Come unto me and rest;

Believe me, and be blest."

—John Campbell Shairp.

———

Still raise for good the supplicating voice,

But leave to Heaven the measure and the choice.

—Dr. Samuel Johnson.

———

PRAY ALWAYS

Go when the morning shineth,

Go when the noon is bright,

Go when the eve declineth,

Go in the hush of night;

Go with pure mind and feeling,

Fling earthly thoughts away,

And, in thy chamber kneeling,

Do thou in secret pray.

Remember all who love thee,

All who are loved by thee;

Pray, too, for those who hate thee,

If any such there be.

Then for thyself in meekness

A blessing humbly claim,

And link with thy petition

The great Redeemer's name.

Or, if 'tis e'er denied thee

In solitude to pray,

Should holy thoughts come o'er thee

When friends are round thy way,

E'en then the silent breathing

Of thy spirit, raised above,

May reach His throne of glory

Who is mercy, truth and love.

Oh! not a joy or blessing

With this can we compare:

The power that he hath given us

To pour our hearts in prayer.

Whene'er thou pin'st in sadness

Before His footstool fall,

And remember in thy gladness

His grace who gave thee all.

—Jane C. Simpson.

———

More things are wrought by prayer

Than this world dreams of. Wherefore let thy voice

Rise like a fountain for me night and day.

For what are men better than sheep or goats,

That nourish a blind life within the brain,

If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer,

Both for themselves and those who call them friend.

For so the whole round earth is every way

Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.

—Alfred Tennyson.

———

ENOCH

He walked with God, by faith, in solitude,

At early dawn or tranquil eventide;

In some lone leafy place he would abide

Till his whole being was with God imbued.

He walked with God amid the multitude;

No threats or smiles could his firm soul divide

From that beloved presence at his side

Whose still small voice silenced earth's noises rude.

Boldly abroad to men he testified

How "the Lord cometh" and the judgment brings;

Gently at home he trained his "sons and daughters";

Till, praying, a bright chariot he espied

Sent to translate him, as on angels' wings,

To walk with God beside heaven's "living waters."

—R. Wilton.

———

A WORKER'S PRAYER

Lord, speak to me, that I may speak

In living echoes of thy tone;

As thou hast sought, so let me seek

Thy erring children, lost and lone.

Oh, teach me, Lord, that I may teach

The precious things thou dost impart;

And wing my words that they may reach

The hidden depths of many a heart.

Oh, give thine own sweet rest to me,

That I may speak with soothing power

A word in season, as from thee,

To weary ones in needful hour.

Oh, use me, Lord, use even me,

Just as thou wilt, and when and where;

Until thy blessed face I see,

Thy rest, thy joy, thy glory share.

———

God answers prayer—

Answers always, everywhere,

I may cast my anxious care,

Burdens I could never bear,

On the God who heareth prayer.

———

SUBMISSION AND REST

The camel, at the close of day

Kneels down upon the sandy plain

To have his burden lifted off

And rest again.

My soul, thou too should to thy knees

When daylight draweth to a close,

And let thy Master lift the load

And grant repose.

Else how couldst thou to-morrow meet,

With all to-morrow's work to do,

If thou thy burden all the night

Dost carry through?

The camel kneels at break of day

To have his guide replace his load;

Then rises up anew to take

The desert road.

So thou shouldst kneel at morning's dawn

That God may give thee daily care;

Assured that he no load too great

Will make thee bear.

———

TAKE TIME TO BE HOLY

Take time to be holy;

Speak oft with thy Lord;

Abide in him always,

And feed on his word;

Make friends of God's children,

Help those who are weak,

Forgetting in nothing

His blessing to seek.

Take time to be holy;

The world rushes on;

Spend much time in secret

With Jesus alone;

By looking at Jesus

Like him thou shalt be;

Thy friends in thy conduct

His likeness shall see.

Take time to be holy;

Let him be thy Guide,

And run not before him

Whatever betide;

In joy or in sorrow

Still follow thy Lord,

And, looking to Jesus,

Still trust in his word.

Take time to be holy;

Be calm in thy soul;

Each thought and each motive

Beneath his control;

Thus led by his Spirit

To fountains of love,

Thou soon shalt be fitted

For service above.

—W. D. Longstaff.

———

PRAYER FOR STRENGTH

Father, before thy footstool kneeling,

Once more my heart goes up to thee,

For aid, for strength, to thee appealing,

Thou who alone canst succor me.

Hear me! for heart and flesh are failing,

My spirit yielding in the strife;

And anguish wild as unavailing

Sweeps in a flood across my life.

Help me to stem the tide of sorrow;

Help me to bear thy chastening rod;

Give me endurance; let me borrow

Strength from thy promise, O my God!

Not mine the grief which words may lighten;

Not mine the tears of common woes;

The pang with which my heart-strings tighten

Only the All-seeing One may know.

And I am weak, my feeble spirit

Shrinks from life's task in wild dismay;

Yet not that thou that task wouldst spare it,

My Father, do I dare to pray.

Into my soul thy might infusing,

Strengthening my spirit by thine own;

Help me, all other aid refusing,

To cling to thee, and thee alone.

And O in my exceeding weakness

Make thy strength perfect; thou art strong:

Aid me to do thy will with meekness,

Thou to whom all my powers belong.

O let me feel that thou art near me;

Close to thy side, I shall not fear;

Hear me, O Strength of Israel, hear me,

Sustain and aid! in mercy hear.

———

LIGHT

Lord, send thy light,

Not only in the darkest night,

But in the shadowy, dim twilight,

Wherein my strained and aching sight

Can scarce distinguish wrong from right,

Then send thy light.

Teach me to pray.

Not only in the morning gray,

Or when the moonbeam's silver ray

Falls on me, but at high noonday,

When pleasure beckons me away,

Teach me to pray.

—Constance Milman.

———

OUR BURDEN BEARER

The little sharp vexations

And the briars that cut the feet,

Why not take all to the Helper

Who has never failed us yet?

Tell him about the heartache,

And tell him the longings too,

Tell him the baffled purpose

When we scarce know what to do.

Then, leaving all our weakness

With the One divinely strong,

Forget that we bore the burden

And carry away the song.

—Phillips Brooks.

———

My proud foe at my hands to take no boon will choose.

Thy prayers are that one gift which he cannot refuse.

—Richard Chenevix Trench.

———

ANSWER TO PRAYER

Man's plea to man is, that he nevermore

Will beg, and that he never begged before;

Man's plea to God is, that he did obtain

A former suit, and therefore sues again.

How good a God we serve, that, when we sue,

Makes his old gifts examples of his new.

—Francis Quarles.

———

TALHAIRN'S PRAYER

Grant me, O God, thy merciful protection;

And, in protection, give me strength, I pray;

And, in my strength, O grant me wise discretion;

And, in discretion, make me ever just;

And, with my justice, may I mingle love,

And, with my love, O God, the love of thee;

And, with the love of thee, the love of all.

—From the Welsh.

———

O sad estate

Of human wretchedness! so weak is man,

So ignorant and blind, that did not God

Sometimes withhold in mercy what we ask,

We should be ruined at our own request.

—Hannah More.

———

Why win we not at once what we in prayer require?

That we may learn great things as greatly to desire.

—Richard Chenevix Trench.

---