Poems (Hoffman)/A Prayer

by Martha Lavinia Hoffman

For works with similar titles, see A Prayer.

A PRAYER

(And golden vials full of odors which were the
prayers of saints.—Rev. 5:8.)

Breathed in the soul's deep chamber
When none but God, were near;
Wrung from a weight of anguish
Or a burden of mute despair;
 But gathered up, by viewless hands,
 And wafted upward on pinions fleet,
 Welcomed by joyous angel bands,
 A golden vial of odors, sweet.

Sung in the house of worship
By a spirit, tuned to praise,
Forgotten amid the tumult
And bustle of later days;
 But guarded through Time's dissolving flight
 By faithful watchers, who never sleep,
 Unsullied by earthly rust or blight,
 A golden vial of odors, sweet.

Lisped by infant voices
In the hush of the evening hour,
Lost on the balmy breezes
Like the scent of a fragile flower;
 But evermore shall the angels
 Their scattered perfume reap,
 For even a child's petition
 Is a vial of incense, sweet.

Uttered in broken accents
By the trembling voice of age,
Or inscribed in true devotion
By the pen of an earnest sage;
 O, the saint's unheard, unuttered prayer
 In its garnered fullness complete,
 Shall perfume Heaven's unclouded air,
 A golden vial of odors, sweet.

Wrung from the anguished bosom
Of the stricken, dying, brave,
Murmured in faltering accents
O'er the cradle or the grave;
 Forevermore shall the angels
 Faith's last petition keep;
 And love's true invocation
 Is a vial of odors, sweet.

Vibrating the chords of gladness
Like the praises of happy birds,
Or swaying the chords of sadness
In notes, too deep for words;
 How many a priceless treasure
 Is flung on the silent air,
 When a golden vial full of odors
 Is the spirit's voiceless prayer!