PRAYER.
I have a thought of one who drawing close
Over her brow the sackloth, in its folds
Crouched, shutting out from her refusing eyes
God's gift of sunshine. While the all-pitying skies
Wooed her with light she would not look upon,
While earth entreated her, and passing winds
Plucked at her garments, and around her flung
Invisible arms, light, urgent, clasping arms,
Her heart made answer:—I have lain so long
On thy cold breast. Despair, did I arise
I should reel wildly, staggering with cramped limbs
Over her brow the sackloth, in its folds
Crouched, shutting out from her refusing eyes
God's gift of sunshine. While the all-pitying skies
Wooed her with light she would not look upon,
While earth entreated her, and passing winds
Plucked at her garments, and around her flung
Invisible arms, light, urgent, clasping arms,
Her heart made answer:—I have lain so long
On thy cold breast. Despair, did I arise
I should reel wildly, staggering with cramped limbs
