The Prayer

My answered prayer came up to me,
And in the silence thus spake he:
"O you who prayed for me to come,
Your greeting is but cold and dumb."

My heart made answer: "You are fair,
But I have prayed too long to care.
Why came you not when all was new,
And I had died for joy of you."

Sara Teasdale

Sara Teasdale (August 8, 1884 – January 29, 1933) was an American lyric poet. She was born in St. Louis, Missouri and her first poem publication was in 1907. Teasdale's style was characterized by clarity and simplicity, often focusing on themes of love, nature, and death. She won the Columbia University Poetry Society Prize for her 1917 collection Love Songs. Unfortunately, she faced severe health issues and depression towards the end of her life, leading to her suicide in 1933.

Sara Teasdale

Spray

Sara Teasdale, Simple Poetry

Doubt

Sara Teasdale, Simple Poetry

Dusk In June

Sara Teasdale, Simple Poetry

Riches

Sara Teasdale, Simple Poetry

English

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A Prayer

Until I lose my soul and lie
Blind to the beauty of the earth,
Deaf though shouting wind goes by,
Dumb in a storm of mirth;

Until my heart is quenched at length
And I have left the land of men,
Oh, let me love with all my strength
Careless if I am loved again.

Sara Teasdale

Prayer

I do not undertake to say
    That literal answers come from Heaven,
But I know this - that when I pray
    A comfort, a support is given
That helps me rise o'er earthly things
As larks soar up on airy wings.

In vain the wise philosopher
    Points out to me my fabric's flaws,
In vain the scientists aver
    That "all things are controlled by laws."
My life has taught me day by day
That it availeth much to pray.

I do not stop to reason out
    The why and how.    I do not care,
Since I know this, that when I doubt,
    Life seems a blackness of despair,
The world a tomb; and when I trust,
Sweet blossoms spring up in the dust.

Since I know in the darkest hour,
    If I lift up my soul in prayer,
Some sympathetic, loving Pow...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The Prayer-Seeker

Along the aisle where prayer was made,
A woman, all in black arrayed,
Close-veiled, between the kneeling host,
With gliding motion of a ghost,
Passed to the desk, and laid thereon
A scroll which bore these words alone,
Pray for me!

Back from the place of worshipping
She glided like a guilty thing
The rustle of her draperies, stirred
By hurrying feet, alone was heard;
While, full of awe, the preacher read,
As out into the dark she sped:
"Pray for me!"

Back to the night from whence she came,
To unimagined grief or shame!
Across the threshold of that door
None knew the burden that she bore;
Alone she left the written scroll,
The legend of a troubled soul,--
Pray for me!

Glide on, poor ghost of woe or sin!
Thou leav'...

John Greenleaf Whittier

A Prayer.

I meant to have but modest needs,
Such as content, and heaven;
Within my income these could lie,
And life and I keep even.

But since the last included both,
It would suffice my prayer
But just for one to stipulate,
And grace would grant the pair.

And so, upon this wise I prayed, --
Great Spirit, give to me
A heaven not so large as yours,
But large enough for me.

A smile suffused Jehovah's face;
The cherubim withdrew;
Grave saints stole out to look at me,
And showed their dimples, too.

I left the place with all my might, --
My prayer away I threw;
The quiet ages picked it up,
And Judgment twinkled, too,

That one so honest be extant
As take the tale for true
That "Whatsoever you shall ask,
Itself b...

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

The Secret Of Prayer

For he who climbs to say his prayer
Meets half way the descending Grace.

ELSA BARKER, in British Review.

This is the secret of all prayers
    That in God's sight have worth,
They must be uttered from the stairs
    That wind away from earth;
And he who mounts to speak the word,
He shall be heard.    He shall be heard.

And he who will not leave himself,
    But stays down with his cares,
Or with his thoughts of pride and pelf,
    Though loud and long his prayers,
Beyond earth's dome of arching skies
They shall not rise.    They shall not rise.

Oh, ye who seek for strength and power
    Seek first some quiet spot,
And fashion through a silent hour
    Your stairway, thought by thought;
Then climb, and pray to God on high:...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

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 ...

Sophie M. (Almon) Hensley