I do not undertake to say
That literal answers come from Heaven.
But I know this that when I pray
A comfort, a support is given
That helps me rise o'er earthly things
As larks soar up on airy wings.
I do not stop to reason out
The why and how I do not care,
Since I know this, that when I doubt,
Life seems a blackness of despair.
The world a tomb: and when I trust,
Sweet blossoms spring up in the dust.
Prayer has a sweet refining grace,
It educates the soul and heart.
It lends a luster to the face,
And by its elevating art
It gives the mind an inner-sight
That brings it near the intinite.
For our gross selves it helps us rise
To something which we yet may be
And so I ask not to be wise,
If thus my faith s lost to me.
Faith that with angels' voice and touch
Says "Pray, for prayer availeth much."
