Part 68 (1/2)

II.

It is true prayer To seek the giver more than gift G.o.d'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 parched 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?”