And thrusts the thing we have prayed for in our face,—
A gauntlet with a gift in’t,”
and sometimes poison in the gift. Well therefore may the authoress of these lines, which in their original import are scarcely applicable to our theme, make a distressed soul utter a petition that certainly is so:—
... “’tis written in the Book,
He heareth the young ravens when they cry;
And yet they cry for carrion. O my God,—
And we, who make excuses for the rest,
We do it in our measure. Then I knelt,
And dropped my head upon the pavement too,
And prayed, since I was foolish in desire