Pray
when all your soul
a tiptoe stands
in wistful eagerness
to talk with God;
put out your hands,
God bends to hear;
it would be a sin
not to draw near.
Pray
when gray inertia
creeps through your soul,
as though a man
who fights the cold,
then growing languid
slumbereth,
and slumbering
knows not
it is death.
Pray
when swamped
with sin and shame
and nowhere else
to pin the blame
but your own will
and waywardness;
God know you,
loves you nonetheless.
