For works with similar titles, see Prayer.
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
Through the white, glaring sunshine. Hide me, night!
Lest the full glories of the universe
Smite me with blindness, and exulting earth
Under the blue triumphal arch of heaven
Victoriously passing, blast my sense
With her insulting gladness. Once I prayed;
Once when dismay, want, death, pressed me so close,
I faced them in mere madness, and beholding,
From mine appalled soul sent up a shriek
That must have pierced the hollow ear of space,
Startling the angels, holding in suspense
Awhile the eternal harmonies. Vain heart!
Could the mute prayer that on its fiery track
Followed in trembling haste, prevail so far?
Amid the roll of twice ten thousand harps
Struck by white-handed seraphim, the voice
Of that unfathomed sea of human woe
Making perpetual moan about His throne,
And surging to His footstool, dost thou dream
That its weak cry rose audibly?
Did sleep
On her imploring senses lightly rest
His hand in benediction? The still air
To her astonished gaze grew all instinct,
Moted with airy forms for ever drawn
Up, by some genial influence. With bent heads,
With hands clasped mutely, and looks downward dropt,
Else searching space, onward they pressed, and drew
Her rapt soul with them. Tears and sighs fell thick,
Mixed with low broken murmurs, and a sound,
Distinct, of music that flowed clearly on,
Like a glad singing stream that lifts its voice
Amid the mourning of sere autumn boughs
Bent with wet leaves and rain. The dense, dull air,
As 'twere a vail, they parted, and it lay
Above the earth like the dusk cloud that hangs
Over some populous mart. And upward still
Through that black space, of which the hue of night
Is a pale mock! And she who fled with them,
Whither, she questioned not, from that great height
Back glancing, saw the universe as one
Who, looking from a mountain top, beholds
Faint clustering lights, that, twinkling through the gloom,
Mark where a city stands. And upward still!
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
Through the white, glaring sunshine. Hide me, night!
Lest the full glories of the universe
Smite me with blindness, and exulting earth
Under the blue triumphal arch of heaven
Victoriously passing, blast my sense
With her insulting gladness. Once I prayed;
Once when dismay, want, death, pressed me so close,
I faced them in mere madness, and beholding,
From mine appalled soul sent up a shriek
That must have pierced the hollow ear of space,
Startling the angels, holding in suspense
Awhile the eternal harmonies. Vain heart!
Could the mute prayer that on its fiery track
Followed in trembling haste, prevail so far?
Amid the roll of twice ten thousand harps
Struck by white-handed seraphim, the voice
Of that unfathomed sea of human woe
Making perpetual moan about His throne,
And surging to His footstool, dost thou dream
That its weak cry rose audibly?
Did sleep
On her imploring senses lightly rest
His hand in benediction? The still air
To her astonished gaze grew all instinct,
Moted with airy forms for ever drawn
Up, by some genial influence. With bent heads,
With hands clasped mutely, and looks downward dropt,
Else searching space, onward they pressed, and drew
Her rapt soul with them. Tears and sighs fell thick,
Mixed with low broken murmurs, and a sound,
Distinct, of music that flowed clearly on,
Like a glad singing stream that lifts its voice
Amid the mourning of sere autumn boughs
Bent with wet leaves and rain. The dense, dull air,
As 'twere a vail, they parted, and it lay
Above the earth like the dusk cloud that hangs
Over some populous mart. And upward still
Through that black space, of which the hue of night
Is a pale mock! And she who fled with them,
Whither, she questioned not, from that great height
Back glancing, saw the universe as one
Who, looking from a mountain top, beholds
Faint clustering lights, that, twinkling through the gloom,
Mark where a city stands. And upward still!
Till through the cloaking dark a sword of light
Flashed suddenly. Then over and around,
There shined the brightness of ten thousand suns
All concentrate, and her scared spirit stood
In the full courts of heaven! She might not look
On its great glory, but the Seraphim
That leant upon their harps, forever there
Turned with bright solemn faces, lost, transfused
Into one rapturous thought. She only saw
How all the assembled prayers of all the worlds
Entreated, silent. Various their guise;
Some with pure eyes uplift, that dared to look
Straight on Divinity, and some with dust
On their pale foreheads. There were infant prayers
Crowned with faint halos; saintly prayers, that might,
But for some traces of forgotten tears,
Have swelled the ranks of Heaven. While yet she looked,
On the pale shore of light there stood a Form
Forlorn, close mantled, that with tottering steps
Drew nearer. Hers! she knew it well! her heart
Shrank with a deadly fear. Oh God! the prayer
That on the steps of the mad shriek that bore
Woe, horror, and defiance up to Heaven,
Followed with faint entreaty! That weak cry,
That mute despairing thing that from her heart
Scarce struggled to her lips, and there fell prone
As one across a threshold! Staggering on
With its pale hands uplift, closer it drew;
And, while she looked to see it thrust without
Into surrounding darkness, rapt and calm
Stood the ranked angels. Near, oh God, it came!
Then with the mien of her who touched His robe
When the crowd pressed Him, springing to the throne,
With a low cry fell prostrate!
In their sheaths
Why slept the keen swords of the cherubim?
Lo, every knee was bowed! round every brow
There bloomed fresh amaranth, from every lip
Burst such transcendent melody, the stars
Grew musical with its echoes, and dull earth
Dreamed of it in her slumber. Last of all
Rose that pale Form, and east the mantle back,
And drank in the pure light with steadfast eyes,
And showed God's seal, that, stamped upon its brow,
Burned like a star.
There was great joy in Heaven.
Flashed suddenly. Then over and around,
There shined the brightness of ten thousand suns
All concentrate, and her scared spirit stood
In the full courts of heaven! She might not look
On its great glory, but the Seraphim
That leant upon their harps, forever there
Turned with bright solemn faces, lost, transfused
Into one rapturous thought. She only saw
How all the assembled prayers of all the worlds
Entreated, silent. Various their guise;
Some with pure eyes uplift, that dared to look
Straight on Divinity, and some with dust
On their pale foreheads. There were infant prayers
Crowned with faint halos; saintly prayers, that might,
But for some traces of forgotten tears,
Have swelled the ranks of Heaven. While yet she looked,
On the pale shore of light there stood a Form
Forlorn, close mantled, that with tottering steps
Drew nearer. Hers! she knew it well! her heart
Shrank with a deadly fear. Oh God! the prayer
That on the steps of the mad shriek that bore
Woe, horror, and defiance up to Heaven,
Followed with faint entreaty! That weak cry,
That mute despairing thing that from her heart
Scarce struggled to her lips, and there fell prone
As one across a threshold! Staggering on
With its pale hands uplift, closer it drew;
And, while she looked to see it thrust without
Into surrounding darkness, rapt and calm
Stood the ranked angels. Near, oh God, it came!
Then with the mien of her who touched His robe
When the crowd pressed Him, springing to the throne,
With a low cry fell prostrate!
In their sheaths
Why slept the keen swords of the cherubim?
Lo, every knee was bowed! round every brow
There bloomed fresh amaranth, from every lip
Burst such transcendent melody, the stars
Grew musical with its echoes, and dull earth
Dreamed of it in her slumber. Last of all
Rose that pale Form, and east the mantle back,
And drank in the pure light with steadfast eyes,
And showed God's seal, that, stamped upon its brow,
Burned like a star.
There was great joy in Heaven.