For works with similar titles, see A Prayer.
A PRAYER
(And golden vials full of odors which were theprayers of saints.—Rev. 5:8.)
Breathed in the soul's deep chamberWhen none but God, were near;Wrung from a weight of anguishOr 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 worshipBy a spirit, tuned to praise,Forgotten amid the tumultAnd 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 voicesIn the hush of the evening hour,Lost on the balmy breezesLike 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 accentsBy the trembling voice of age,Or inscribed in true devotionBy 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 bosomOf the stricken, dying, brave,Murmured in faltering accentsO'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 gladnessLike the praises of happy birds,Or swaying the chords of sadnessIn 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!