Prayer.

I stood upon a hill, and watched the death
    Of the day's turmoil. Still the glory spread
    Cloud-top to cloud-top, and each rearing head
Trembled to crimson. So a mighty breath
    From some wild Titan in a rising ire
    Might kindle flame in voicing his desire.

Soft stirred the evening air; the pine-crowned hills
    Glowed in an answering rapture where the flush
    Grew to a blood-drop, and the vesper hush
Moved in my soul, while from my life all ills
    Faded and passed away. God's voice was there
    And in my heart the silence was a prayer.

There was a day when to my fearfulness
    Was born a joy, when doubt was swept afar
    A shadow and a memory, and a star
Gleamed in my sky more bright for the distress.
    The stillness breathed thanksgiving, and the air
    Wafted, methought, the incense of a prayer.

Heaven sets no bounds of bead-roll or appeal;
    And when the fiery heart with mute embrace
    Bends, tremblingly, but for a moment's space
It needs no words that cry, no limbs that kneel.
    As meteors flash, so, in a moment's light,
    Life, darting forth, touches the Infinite.

All my prayers wordless? Nay, I can recall
    A night not so long past but that each thought
    Lives at this hour, and throbs again unsought
When Silence broods, and Night's chill shadows fall;
    Then Darkness' thousand pulses thrilled and stirred
    With the dear grace of a remembered word;

And I was still, thy voice enshrouding me.
    Like the strong sweep of ocean-breath the power
    Of one resistless thought transformed my hour
Of love-dreams to a fear. All hopelessly
    I knew love's impotence, and my despair
    Stretched soul-hands forth, and quivered to a prayer.

My passionate heart cried out: "If his dear life
    Through stress of keen temptation merits aught
    Of penance or requital, be it wrought
Upon my life. If only through the strife
    Is won the peace, through drudgery the gain,
    Give him the issue, and to me the pain!"

Some day, in our soul's course o'er trackless lands,
    Swayed oft by adverse winds, or swept along
    In Fate's wild current with the fluttering throng
Towards Sin's engulfing maelstrom, spirit hands
    Will brace our trembling wings, and through the night
    Point and upbear in our last trembling flight.