The Answered Prayer.
“Mortal cannot make
Conditions with the Creator.”—Schiller.
Into my broken heart
Pour gracious balm,
Where the deep waters start
Breathe holy calm;
Over my weary life
Shed deep repose,
Shelter me from the strife,
Baffle my foes!
I have not shunned my task
Early or late;
I have not turned to ask
“Wherefore?” of fate.
Only one cry went up,
Hopeless at length—
“Father! to drink thy cup
Grant me thy strength.”
Now at the last I stand
Waiting from heaven,
Patient, with outstretched hand,
Alms never given!
Grant me, O God! I pray,
One answ'ring sign
Ere I withdraw for aye!
Speak! Am I thine?
Cometh the sign at last—
Bolt hot and red,
Falling to crush and blast
Desolate head;
Driving the cowering form
Wildly across
Life's heath, through flood and storm,
On—to the cross!