Poems (Denver)/In Prayer

by Mary Caroline Denver and Jane Campbell Denver

IN PRAYER.

Lowly she kneels in her dim retreat,
And her eyes are dark with the thoughts that fleet
Across their azure, as shadows shy
In the depths of a dark blue summer sky.

Softly one hand to her heart is pressed,
To still the throbbing within her breast;
And the smile hath faded away from her brow,
In the holier thoughts that subdue it now.

She hath little to be forgiven, I ween,
For her innocent soul in her eyes is seen,
And small the grief that hath entered there,
To haunt her bosom with dreams of care.

She seemeth now like a bud in June,
Timid and graceful—to die as soon;
And, as to the rose, to her are given
The dreams of earth with the gifts of heaven,—

The fragrance that lives long after death,
The hope that inspires with every breath,
The wealth of love that is often given
To the humblest child of our God in heaven;

These bless her life, and will ever bless,
Though the world prove to her a wilderness;
Sweet flowers that spring from the desert-gloom,
As the soul flies heavenward from the tomb.

Oh! prize them well! for thy heart is stirred,
Sweet girl! like the heart of a woodland bird,
Too much, too much, with the brilliant things
That attract to the earth thy spirit's wings.

Thou wilt pause where its fountains murmuring flow;
That their waters are bitter thou soon wilt know,
And turn, despairing, to deem, perchance,
Even hope of heaven a wild romance.

Yet lose not hope! on thy tranquil brow
No dread of the future is weighing now;
But on it rests from thy spirit's wings,
The shadowy glimpse of sublimer things.

That is over thee now, as thou kneelest there,
Lifting to heaven thy earnest prayer;
Pilling thy bosom with thoughts as bright
As stars that shine through the darkest night:

The hope of a better world that lies
In the fathomless depths of thy spiritual eyes;
Whose blessed light hath a language given,
That speaks unto earth of the things of heaven.