IN days supreme, of fond delight, When happy thoughts within us dwell, Like vestals robed in stainless white,— Who time their footsteps by the swell Of sweet-voiced bells upon the air— Then have we least the need for prayer. In days obscured by veiling folds Of grief, or clouded o'er with dread, While dumb suspense relentless holds Its sword above the shrinking head,— Then, even in the soul's despair, Is not the deepest need of prayer. Since to the dark Gethsemane The pitying angels, soon or late, @3Must@1 come with tenderest ministry, And each blithe day is but the gate To some rich temple, rising fair, Which builds to heaven a golden stair— God keep us through the common days, The level stretches, white with dust, When thought is tired, and hands upraise Their burdens feebly, since they must. In days of slowly fretting care, Then most we need the strength of prayer. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ROAST BEEF OF OLD ENGLAND by HENRY FIELDING ENGLAND'S DEAD by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS FROM AN EXCAVATION ON THE WARRIOR RIVER by ESTHER BARRETT ARGO SEA BUTTERFLIES by DON BLANDING SONG, FR. A VISION OF GIORGIONE: GEMMA'S SONG ON THE WAY by GORDON BOTTOMLEY THE PROCTORSVILLE AND WINDSOR, VERMONT, STAGE by DANIEL LEAVENS CADY TO A CHALK-BLUE by PATRICK REGINALD CHALMERS |