304 Total Quotes

Prayer Quotes Page 9

O THOU unknown, Almighty Cause Of all my hope and fear! In whose dread presence, ere an hour, Perhaps I must appear! If I have wander'd in those paths Of life I ought to shun, As something, loudly, in my breast, Remonstrates I have done; Thou know'st that Thou hast formed me With passions wild and strong; And list'ning to their witching voice Has often led me wrong. Where human weakness has come short, Or frailty stept aside, Do Thou, All-Good-for such Thou art-- In shades of darkness hide. Where with intention I have err'd, No other plea I have, But, Thou art good; and Goodness still Delighteth to forgive.
Robert Burns
#Prayer

O THOU Great Being! what Thou art, Surpasses me to know; Yet sure I am, that known to Thee Are all Thy works below. Thy creature here before Thee stands, All wretched and distrest; Yet sure those ills that wring my soul Obey Thy high behest. Sure, Thou, Almighty, canst not act From cruelty or wrath! O, free my weary eyes from tears, Or close them fast in death! But, if I must afflicted be, To suit some wise design, Then man my soul with firm resolves, To bear and not repine!
Robert Burns
#Prayer

O THOU, who in the heavens does dwell, Who, as it pleases best Thysel', Sends ane to heaven an' ten to hell, A' for Thy glory, And no for ony gude or ill They've done afore Thee! I bless and praise Thy matchless might, When thousands Thou hast left in night, That I am here afore Thy sight, For gifts an' grace A burning and a shining light To a' this place. What was I, or my generation, That I should get sic exaltation, I wha deserve most just damnation For broken laws, Five thousand years ere my creation, Thro' Adam's cause? When frae my mither's womb I fell, Thou might hae plunged me in hell, To gnash my gums, to weep and wail, In burnin lakes, Where damned devils roar and yell, Chain'd to their stakes. Yet I am here a chosen sample, To show thy grace is great and ample; I'm here a pillar o' Thy temple, Strong as a rock, A guide, a buckler, and example, To a' Thy flock. O L--d, Thou kens what zeal I bear, When drinkers drink, an' swearers swear, An' singin there, an' dancin here, Wi' great and sma'; For I am keepit by Thy fear Free frae them a'. But yet, O L--d! confess I must, At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust: An' sometimes, too, in wardly trust, Vile self gets in: But Thou remembers we are dust, Defil'd wi' sin. O L--d! yestreen, Thou kens, wi' Meg-- Thy pardon I sincerely beg, O! may't ne'er be a livin plague To my dishonour, An' I'll ne'er lift a lawless leg Again upon her. Besides, I farther maun allow, Wi' Leezie's lass, three times I trow-- But L--d, that Friday I was fou, When I cam near her; Or else, Thou kens, Thy servant true Wad never steer her. Maybe Thou lets this fleshly thorn Buffet Thy servant e'en and morn, Lest he owre proud and high shou'd turn, That he's sae gifted: If sae, Thy han' maun e'en be borne, Until Thou lift it. L--d, bless Thy chosen in this place, For here Thou hast a chosen race: But G--d confound their stubborn face, An' blast their name, Wha bring Thy elders to disgrace An' public shame. L--d, mind Gaw'n Hamilton's deserts; He drinks, an' swears, an' plays at cartes, Yet has sae mony takin arts, Wi' great and sma', Frae G--d's ain priest the people's hearts He steals awa. An' when we chasten'd him therefor, Thou kens how he bred sic a splore, An' set the warld in a roar O' laughing at us;-- Curse Thou his basket and his store, Kail an' potatoes. L--d, hear my earnest cry and pray'r, Against that Presbyt'ry o' Ayr; Thy strong right hand, L--d, make it bare Upo' their heads; L--d visit them, an' dinna spare, For their misdeeds. O L--d, my G--d! that glib-tongu'd Aiken, My vera heart and flesh are quakin, To think how we stood sweatin', shakin, An' p--'d wi' dread, While he, wi' hingin lip an' snakin, Held up his head. L--d, in Thy day o' vengeance try him, L--d, visit them wha did employ him, And pass not in Thy mercy by 'em, Nor hear their pray'r, But for Thy people's sake, destroy 'em, An' dinna spare. But, L--d, remember me an' mine Wi' mercies temp'ral an' divine, That I for grace an' gear may shine, Excell'd by nane, And a' the glory shall be thine, Amen, Amen!
Robert Burns
#Prayer

YE Irish lords, ye knights an' squires, Wha represent our brughs an' shires, An' doucely manage our affairs In parliament, To you a simple poet's pray'rs Are humbly sent. Alas! my roupit Muse is hearse! Your Honours' hearts wi' grief 'twad pierce, To see her sittin on her arse Low i' the dust, And scriechinh out prosaic verse, An like to brust! Tell them wha hae the chief direction, Scotland an' me's in great affliction, E'er sin' they laid that curst restriction On aqua-vit&æ; An' rouse them up to strong conviction, An' move their pity. Stand forth an' tell yon Premier youth The honest, open, naked truth: Tell him o' mine an' Scotland's drouth, His servants humble: The muckle deevil blaw you south If ye dissemble! Does ony great man glunch an' gloom? Speak out, an' never fash your thumb! Let posts an' pensions sink or soom Wi' them wha grant them; If honestly they canna come, Far better want them. In gath'rin votes you were na slack; Now stand as tightly by your tack: Ne'er claw your lug, an' fidge your back, An' hum an' haw; But raise your arm, an' tell your crack Before them a'. Paint Scotland greetin owre her thrissle; Her mutchkin stowp as toom's a whissle; An' d--mn'd excisemen in a bussle, Seizin a stell, Triumphant crushin't like a mussel, Or limpet shell! Then, on the tither hand present her-- A blackguard smuggler right behint her, An' cheek-for-chow, a chuffie vintner Colleaguing join, Picking her pouch as bare as winter Of a' kind coin. Is there, that bears the name o' Scot, But feels his heart's bluid rising hot, To see his poor auld mither's pot Thus dung in staves, An' plunder'd o' her hindmost groat By gallows knaves? Alas! I'm but a nameless wight, Trode i' the mire out o' sight? But could I like Montgomeries fight, Or gab like Boswell, 2 There's some sark-necks I wad draw tight, An' tie some hose well. God bless your Honours! can ye see't-- The kind, auld cantie carlin greet, An' no get warmly to your feet, An' gar them hear it, An' tell them wi'a patriot-heat Ye winna bear it? Some o' you nicely ken the laws, To round the period an' pause, An' with rhetoric clause on clause To mak harangues; Then echo thro' Saint Stephen's wa's Auld Scotland's wrangs. Dempster, 3 a true blue Scot I'se warran'; Thee, aith-detesting, chaste Kilkerran; 4 An' that glib-gabbit Highland baron, The Laird o' Graham; 5 An' ane, a chap that's damn'd aulfarran', Dundas his name: 6 Erskine, a spunkie Norland billie; 7 True Campbells, Frederick and Ilay; 8 An' Livistone, the bauld Sir Willie; 9 An' mony ithers, Whom auld Demosthenes or Tully Might own for brithers. See sodger Hugh, 10 my watchman stented, If poets e'er are represented; I ken if that your sword were wanted, Ye'd lend a hand; But when there's ought to say anent it, Ye're at a stand. Arouse, my boys! exert your mettle, To get auld Scotland back her kettle; Or faith! I'll wad my new pleugh-pettle, Ye'll see't or lang, She'll teach you, wi' a reekin whittle, Anither sang. This while she's been in crankous mood, Her lost Militia fir'd her bluid; (Deil na they never mair do guid, Play'd her that pliskie!) An' now she's like to rin red-wud About her whisky. An' Lord! if ance they pit her till't, Her tartan petticoat she'll kilt, An'durk an' pistol at her belt, She'll tak the streets, An' rin her whittle to the hilt, I' the first she meets! For God sake, sirs! then speak her fair, An' straik her cannie wi' the hair, An' to the muckle house repair, Wi' instant speed, An' strive, wi' a' your wit an' lear, To get remead. Yon ill-tongu'd tinkler, Charlie Fox, May taunt you wi' his jeers and mocks; But gie him't het, my hearty cocks! E'en cowe the cadie! An' send him to his dicing box An' sportin' lady. Tell you guid bluid o' auld Boconnock's, 11 I'll be his debt twa mashlum bonnocks, An' drink his health in auld Nance Tinnock's 12 Nine times a-week, If he some scheme, like tea an' winnocks, Was kindly seek. Could he some commutation broach, I'll pledge my aith in guid braid Scotch, He needna fear their foul reproach Nor erudition, Yon mixtie-maxtie, queer hotch-potch, The Coalition. Auld Scotland has a raucle tongue; She's just a devil wi' a rung; An' if she promise auld or young To tak their part, Tho' by the neck she should be strung, She'll no desert. And now, ye chosen Five-and-Forty, May still you mither's heart support ye; Then, tho'a minister grow dorty, An' kick your place, Ye'll snap your gingers, poor an' hearty, Before his face. God bless your Honours, a' your days, Wi' sowps o' kail and brats o' claise, In spite o' a' the thievish kaes, That haunt St. Jamie's! Your humble poet sings an' prays, While Rab his name is. POSTSCRIPTLET half-starv'd slaves in warmer skies See future wines, rich-clust'ring, rise; Their lot auld Scotland ne're envies, But, blythe and frisky, She eyes her freeborn, martial boys Tak aff their whisky. What tho' their Phoebus kinder warms, While fragrance blooms and beauty charms, When wretches range, in famish'd swarms, The scented groves; Or, hounded forth, dishonour arms In hungry droves! Their gun's a burden on their shouther; They downa bide the stink o' powther; Their bauldest thought's a hank'ring swither To stan' or rin, Till skelp--a shot--they're aff, a'throw'ther, To save their skin. But bring a Scotchman frae his hill, Clap in his cheek a Highland gill, Say, such is royal George's will, An' there's the foe! He has nae thought but how to kill Twa at a blow. Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease him; Death comes, wi' fearless eye he sees him; Wi'bluidy hand a welcome gies him; An' when he fa's, His latest draught o' breathin lea'es him In faint huzzas. Sages their solemn een may steek, An' raise a philosophic reek, An' physically causes seek, In clime an' season; But tell me whisky's name in Greek I'll tell the reason. Scotland, my auld, respected mither! Tho' whiles ye moistify your leather, Till, whare ye sit on craps o' heather, Ye tine your dam; Freedom an' whisky gang thegither! Take aff your dram! Note 1. This was written before the Act anent the Scotch distilleries, of session 1786, for which Scotland and the author return their most grateful thanks.--R. B. [back] Note 2. James Boswell of Auchinleck, the biographer of Johnson. [back] Note 3. George Dempster of Dunnichen. [back] Note 4. Sir Adam Ferguson of Kilkerran, Bart. [back] Note 5. The Marquis of Graham, eldest son of the Duke of Montrose. [back] Note 6. Right Hon. Henry Dundas, M. P. [back] Note 7. Probably Thomas, afterward Lord Erskine. [back] Note 8. Lord Frederick Campbell, second brother of the Duke of Argyll, and Ilay Campbell, Lord Advocate for Scotland, afterward President of the Court of Session. [back] Note 9. Sir Wm. Augustus Cunningham, Baronet, of Livingstone. [back] Note 10. Col. Hugh Montgomery, afterward Earl of Eglinton. [back] Note 11. Pitt, whose grandfather was of Boconnock in Cornwall. [back] Note 12. A worthy old hostess of the author's in Mauchline, where he sometimes studies politics over a glass of gude auld Scotch Drink.--R. B. [back]
Robert Burns
#Prayer

O THOU dread Power, who reign'st above, I know thou wilt me hear, When for this scene of peace and love, I make this prayer sincere. The hoary Sire--the mortal stroke, Long, long be pleas'd to spare; To bless this little filial flock, And show what good men are. She, who her lovely offspring eyes With tender hopes and fears, O bless her with a mother's joys, But spare a mother's tears! Their hope, their stay, their darling youth. In manhood's dawning blush, Bless him, Thou God of love and truth, Up to a parent's wish. The beauteous, seraph sister-band-- With earnest tears I pray-- Thou know'st the snares on ev'ry hand, Guide Thou their steps alway. When, soon or late, they reach that coast, O'er Life's rough ocean driven, May they rejoice, no wand'rer lost, A family in Heaven!
Robert Burns
#Prayer

GUDE pity me, because I'm little! For though I am an elf o' mettle, An' can, like ony wabster's shuttle, Jink there or here, Yet, scarce as lang's a gude kail-whittle, I'm unco queer. An' now Thou kens our waefu' case; For Geordie's jurr we're in disgrace, Because we stang'd her through the place, An' hurt her spleuchan; For whilk we daurna show our face Within the clachan. An' now we're dern'd in dens and hollows, And hunted, as was William Wallace, Wi' constables-thae blackguard fallows, An' sodgers baith; But Gude preserve us frae the gallows, That shamefu' death! Auld grim black-bearded Geordie's sel'-- O shake him owre the mouth o' hell! There let him hing, an' roar, an' yell Wi' hideous din, And if he offers to rebel, Then heave him in. When Death comes in wi' glimmerin blink, An' tips auld drucken Nanse the wink, May Sautan gie her doup a clink Within his yett, An' fill her up wi' brimstone drink, Red-reekin het. Though Jock an' hav'rel Jean are merry-- Some devil seize them in a hurry, An' waft them in th' infernal wherry Straught through the lake, An' gie their hides a noble curry Wi' oil of aik! As for the jurr-puir worthless body! She's got mischief enough already; Wi' stanged hips, and buttocks bluidy She's suffer'd sair; But, may she wintle in a woody, If she wh-e mair!
Robert Burns
#Prayer

Go thou gentle whispering wind, Bear this sigh; and if thou find Where my cruel fair doth rest, Cast it in her snowy breast, So, enflam'd by my desire, It may set her heart a-fire. Those sweet kisses thou shalt gain, Will reward thee for thy pain: Boldly light upon her lip, There suck odours, and thence skip To her bosom; lastly fall Down, and wander over all: Range about those ivory hills, From whose every part distills Amber dew; there spices grow, There pure streams of nectar flow; There perfume thyself, and bring All those sweets upon thy wing: As thou return'st, change by thy power, Every weed into a flower; Turn each thistle to a vine, Make the bramble eglantine. For so rich a booty made, Do but this, and I am paid. Thou canst with thy powerful blast, Heat apace, and cool as fast: Thou canst kindle hidden flame, And again destroy the same; Then for pity, either stir Up the fire of love in her, That alike both flames may shine, Or else quite extinguish mine.
Thomas Carew
#Prayer

This much, O heaven--if I should brood or rave, Pity me not; but let the world be fed, Yea, in my madness if I strike me dead, Heed you the grass that grows upon my grave. If I dare snarl between this sun and sod, Whimper and clamour, give me grace to own, In sun and rain and fruit in season shown, The shining silence of the scorn of God. Thank God the stars are set beyond my power, If I must travail in a night of wrath, Thank God my tears will never vex a moth, Nor any curse of mine cut down a flower. Men say the sun was darkened: yet I had Thought it beat brightly, even on--Calvary: And He that hung upon the Torturing Tree Heard all the crickets singing, and was glad.
G. K. Chesterton
#Prayer

Since that I may not have Love on this side the grave, Let me imagine Love. Since not mine is the bliss Of 'claspt hands and lips that kiss,' Let me in dreams it prove. What tho' as the years roll No soul shall melt to my soul, Let me conceive such thing; Tho' never shall entwine Loving arms around mine Let dreams caresses bring. To live--it is my doom-- Lonely as in a tomb, This cross on me was laid; My God, I know not why; Here in the dark I lie, Lonely, yet not afraid. It has seemed good to Thee Still to withhold the key Which opes the way to men; I am shut in alone, I make not any moan, Thy ways are past my ken. Yet grant me this, to find The sweetness in my mind Which I must still forego; Great God which art above, Grant me to image Love,-- The bliss without the woe.
Amy Levy
#Prayer

Emily Dickinson
Prayer is the little implement Through which Men reach Where Presence -- is denied them. They fling their Speech By means of it -- in God's Ear -- If then He hear -- This sums the Apparatus Comprised in Prayer --
Emily Dickinson
#Prayer

William Cowper
Lord, who hast suffer'd all for me, My peace and pardon to procure, The lighter cross I bear for Thee, Help me with patience to endure. The storm of loud repining hush; I would in humble silence mourn; Why should the unburnt, though burning bush, Be angry as the crackling thorn? Man should not faint at Thy rebuke, Like Joshua falling on his face, When the cursed thing that Achan took Brought Israel into just disgrace. Perhaps some golden wedge suppress'd, Some secret sin offends my God; Perhaps that Babylonish vest, Self-righteousness, provokes the rod. Ah! were I buffeted all day, Mock'd, crown'd with thorns and spit upon, I yet should have no right to say, My great distress is mine alone. Let me not angrily declare No pain was ever sharp like mine, Nor murmur at the cross I bear, But rather weep, remembering Thine.
William Cowper
#Prayer

William Cowper
Gracious Lord, our children see, By Thy mercy we are free; But shall these, alas! remain Subjects still of Satan's reign? Israel's young ones, when of old Pharaoh threaten'd to withhold, Then Thy messenger said, "No; Let the children also go!" When the angel of the Lord, Drawing forth his dreadful sword, Slew with an avenging hand, All the first-born of the land; Then Thy people's door he pass'd, Where the bloody sign was placed: Hear us, now, upon our knees, Plead the blood of Christ for these! Lord, we tremble, for we know How the fierce malicious foe, Wheeling round his watchful flight, Keeps them ever in his sight: Spread Thy pinions, King of kings! Hide them safe beneath Thy wings; Lest the ravenous bird of prey Stoop and bear the brood away.
William Cowper
#Prayer

William Cowper
What various hindrances we meet In coming to a mercy seat! Yet who that knows the worth of prayer, But wishes to be often there? Prayer makes the darken'd cloud withdraw, Prayer climbs the ladder Jacob saw, Gives exercise to faith and love, Brings every blessing from above. Restraining prayer, we cease to fight; Prayer makes the Christian's armour bright; And Satan trembles when he sees The weakest saint upon his knees. While Moses stood with arms spread wide, Success was found on Israel's side; But when through weariness they fail'd, That moment Amalek prevail'd. Have you no words? Ah, think again, Words flow apace when you complain, And fill your fellow-creature's ear With the sad tale of all your care. Were half the breath thus vainly spent To heaven in supplication sent, Your cheerful song would oftener be, "Hear what the Lord has done for me."
William Cowper
#Prayer

William Cowper
(Mark, xi.17) Thy mansion is the Christian's heart, O Lord, Thy dwelling place secure! Bid the unruly throng depart, And leave the consecrated door. Devoted as it is to Thee, A thievish swarm frequents the place, They steal away my hopes from me, And rob my Saviour of His praise. There, too, a sharp designing trade Sin, Satan, and the World maintain; Nor cease to press me, and persuade To part with ease, and purchase pain. I know them, and I hate their din; And weary of the bustling crowd; But while their voice is heard within, I cannot serve Thee as I would. Oh! for the joy thy presence gives, What peace shall reign when Thou art there; Thy presence makes this den of thieves A calm delightful house of prayer. And if Thou make Thy temple shine, Yet self-abased, will I adore; The gold and silver are not mine; I give Thee waht was Thine before.
William Cowper
#Prayer

William Cowper
Jesus! where'er Thy people meet, There they behold Thy mercy seat; Where'er they seek Thee, Thou art found, And every place is hallow'd ground. For Thou, within no walls confined, Inhabitest the humble mind; Such ever bring Thee where they come And going, take Thee to their home. Dear Shepherd of Thy chosen few! Thy former mercies here renew; Her to our waiting hearts proclaim The sweetness of Thy saving name. Here may we prove the power of prayer, To strengthen faith, and sweeten care; To teach our faint desires to rise, And bring all Heaven before our eyes. Behold, at Thy commanding word We stretch the curtain and the cord; Come Thou, and fill this wider space, And bless us with a large increase. Lord, we are few, but Thou art near: Nor short Thine arm, nor deaf Thine ear; Oh rend the heavens, come quickly down, And make a thousand hearts Thine own.
William Cowper
#Prayer

TO charms and philters, secret spells and prayers, How many round attribute all their cares! In these howe'er I never can believe, And laugh at follies that so much deceive. Yet with the beauteous FAIR, 'tis very true, These WORDS, as SACRED VIRTUES, oft they view; The spell and philter wonders work in love Hearts melt with charms supposed from pow'rs above! MY aim is now to have recourse to these, And give a story that I trust will please, In which Saint Julian's prayer, to Reynold D'Ast, Produced a benefit, good fortune classed. Had he neglected to repeat the charm, Believed so thoroughly to guard from harm, He would have found his cash accounts not right, And passed assuredly a wretched night. ONE day, to William's castle as he moved. Three men, whose looks he very much approved, And thought such honest fellows he had round, Their like could nowhere be discovered round; Without suspecting any thing was wrong, The three, with complaisance and fluent tongue, Saluted him in humble servile style, And asked, (the minutes better to beguile,) If they might bear him company the way; The honour would be great, and no delay; Besides, in travelling 'tis safer found, And far more pleasant, when the party's round; So many robbers through the province range, (Continued they) 'tis wonderfully strange, The prince should not these villains more restrain; But there:--bad MEN will somewhere still remain. TO their proposal Reynold soon agreed, And they resolved together to proceed. When 'bout a league the travellers had moved, Discussing freely, as they all approved, The conversation turned on spells and prayer, Their pow'r o'er worms of earth, or birds of air; To charm the wolf, or guard from thunder's roar, And many wonderful achievements more; Besides the cures a prayer would oft produce; To man and beast it proves of sov'reign use, Far greater than from doctors e'er you'll view, Who, with their Latin, make so much ado. IN turn, the three pretended knowledge great, And mystick facts affected to relate, While Reynold silently attention paid To all the words the honest fellows said:-- Possess you not, said one, some secret prayer To bring you aid, when dangers round you stare? To this our Reynold seriously replied, Myself, on secret spells, I do not pride; But still some WORDS I have that I repeat, Each morn I travel, that I may not meet A horrid lodging where I stop at night; 'Tis called SAINT JULIAN'S PRAYER that I recite, And truly I have found, that when I fail To say this prayer, I've reason to bewail. But rarely I neglect so good a thing, That ills averts, and may such blessings bring. And have you clearly said it, sir, to day? Cried one of those he met upon his way. Yes, Reynold answered. Well, replied the Wight; I'll wage, I'm better lodged than you to-night. 'TWAS very cold, and darkness 'gan to peep; The place was distant yet, where they might sleep. Perhaps, said Reynold, 'tis your usual care, In travelling, to say, like me, this prayer. Not so, the other cried, to you I vow, Invoking saints is not my practice now; But should I lose, thenceforth I'll them address.-- Said Reynold, readily I acquiesce; My life I'd venture, should you to an inn, For, in the town, I've neither friend nor kin, And, if you like, we'll this exception make. The other answered: Well, the bet I'll take; Your horse and coat against my purse you wage, And, sure of gaining, readily engage. Our Wight might then have thoroughly perceived, His horse was lost--no chance to be relieved. BESIDE a wood, as on the party moved, The one, who betting had so much approved, Now changed his tone, and in a surly way, Exclaimed:--Alight--you'll find it time to pray; Let me apprize you, distant is the place, And much you'll need Saint Julian's special grace. Come off, I tell you:--instantly they took His purse, horse, clothes, and all their hands could hook E'en seized his boots, and said with subtle sneer, Your feet, by walking, won't the worse appear; Then sought a diff'rent road by rapid flight, And, presently the knaves were out of sight; While Reynold still with stockings, drawers, and shirt, But wet to skin, and covered o'er with dirt: (The wind north-east in front--as cold as clay In doleful dumps proceeded on his way, And justly feared, that spite of faith and prayer, He now should meet, at night, with wretched fare. HOWEVER, some pleasing hopes he still had yet, That, from his cloak-bag, he some clothes might get; For, we should note, a servant he had brought, Who in the neighbourhood a farrier sought. To set a shoe upon his horse, and then Should join his master on the road agen; But that, as we shall find, was not the case, And Reynold's dire misfortune thence we trace. In fact, the fellow, worthless we'll suppose, Had viewed from far what accidents arose, Then turned aside, his safety to secure, And left his master dangers to endure; So steadily be kept upon the trot, To Castle-William, ere 'twas night, he got, And took
Jean Fontaine
#Prayer

Keep me, I pray, in wisdom's way That I may truths eternal seek; I need protecting care to-day,-- My purse is light, my flesh is weak. So banish from my erring heart All baleful appetites and hints Of Satan's fascinating art, Of first editions, and of prints. Direct me in some godly walk Which leads away from bookish strife, That I with pious deed and talk May extra-illustrate my life. But if, O Lord, it pleaseth Thee To keep me in temptation's way, I humbly ask that I may be Most notably beset to-day; Let my temptation be a book, Which I shall purchase, hold, and keep, Whereon when other men shall look, They 'll wail to know I got it cheap. Oh, let it such a volume be As in rare copperplates abounds, Large paper, clean, and fair to see, Uncut, unique, unknown to Lowndes.
Eugene Field
#Prayer

Emily Dickinson
My period had come for Prayer -- No other Art -- would do -- My Tactics missed a rudiment -- Creator -- Was it you? God grows above -- so those who pray Horizons -- must ascend -- And so I stepped upon the North To see this Curious Friend -- His House was not -- no sign had He -- By Chimney -- nor by Door Could I infer his Residence -- Vast Prairies of Air Unbroken by a Settler -- Were all that I could see -- Infinitude -- Had'st Thou no Face That I might look on Thee? The Silence condescended -- Creation stopped -- for Me -- But awed beyond my errand -- I worshipped -- did not "pray" --
Emily Dickinson
#Prayer

Once more the storm is howling, and half hid Under this cradle-hood and coverlid My child sleeps on. There is no obstacle But Gregory's wood and one bare hill Whereby the haystack- and roof-levelling wind. Bred on the Atlantic, can be stayed; And for an hour I have walked and prayed Because of the great gloom that is in my mind. I have walked and prayed for this young child an hour And heard the sea-wind scream upon the tower, And-under the arches of the bridge, and scream In the elms above the flooded stream; Imagining in excited reverie That the future years had come, Dancing to a frenzied drum, Out of the murderous innocence of the sea. May she be granted beauty and yet not Beauty to make a stranger's eye distraught, Or hers before a looking-glass, for such, Being made beautiful overmuch, Consider beauty a sufficient end, Lose natural kindness and maybe The heart-revealing intimacy That chooses right, and never find a friend. Helen being chosen found life flat and dull And later had much trouble from a fool, While that great Queen, that rose out of the spray, Being fatherless could have her way Yet chose a bandy-leggèd smith for man. It's certain that fine women eat A crazy salad with their meat Whereby the Horn of plenty is undone. In courtesy I'd have her chiefly learned; Hearts are not had as a gift but hearts are earned By those that are not entirely beautiful; Yet many, that have played the fool For beauty's very self, has charm made wisc. And many a poor man that has roved, Loved and thought himself beloved, From a glad kindness cannot take his eyes. May she become a flourishing hidden tree That all her thoughts may like the linnet be, And have no business but dispensing round Their magnanimities of sound, Nor but in merriment begin a chase, Nor but in merriment a quarrel. O may she live like some green laurel Rooted in one dear perpetual place. My mind, because the minds that I have loved, The sort of beauty that I have approved, Prosper but little, has dried up of late, Yet knows that to be choked with hate May well be of all evil chances chief. If there's no hatred in a mind Assault and battery of the wind Can never tear the linnet from the leaf. An intellectual hatred is the worst, So let her think opinions are accursed. Have I not seen the loveliest woman born Out of the mouth of plenty's horn, Because of her opinionated mind Barter that horn and every good By quiet natures understood For an old bellows full of angry wind? Considering that, all hatred driven hence, The soul recovers radical innocence And learns at last that it is self-delighting, Self-appeasing, self-affrighting, And that its own sweet will is Heaven's will; She can, though every face should scowl And every windy quarter howl Or every bellows burst, be happy Still. And may her bridegroom bring her to a house Where all's accustomed, ceremonious; For arrogance and hatred are the wares Peddled in the thoroughfares. How but in custom and in ceremony Are innocence and beauty born? Ceremony's a name for the rich horn, And custom for the spreading laurel tree.
William Butler Yeats
#Prayer

God guard me from those thoughts men think In the mind alone; He that sings a lasting song Thinks in a marrow-bone; From all that makes a wise old man That can be praised of all; O what am I that I should not seem For the song's sake a fool? I pray -- for word is out And prayer comes round again -- That I may seem, though I die old, A foolish, passionate man.
William Butler Yeats
#Prayer

DREADED Brama, lord of might! All proceed from thee alone; Thou art he who judgeth right! Dost thou none but Brahmins own? Do but Rajahs come from thee? None but those of high estate? Didst not thou the ape create, Aye, and even such as we? We are not of noble kind, For with woe our lot is rife; And what others deadly find Is our only source of life. Let this be enough for men, Let them, if they will, despise us; But thou, Brama, thou shouldst prize us, All are equal in thy ken. Now that, Lord, this prayer is said, As thy child acknowledge me; Or let one be born in-stead, Who may link me on to thee! Didst not thou a Bayadere As a goddess heavenward raise? And we too to swell thy praise, Such a miracle would hear. 1821.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
#Prayer

Bid a strong ghost stand at the head That my Michael may sleep sound, Nor cry, nor turn in the bed Till his morning meal come round; And may departing twilight keep All dread afar till morning's back. That his mother may not lack Her fill of sleep. Bid the ghost have sword in fist: Some there are, for I avow Such devilish things exist, Who have planned his murder, for they know Of some most haughty deed or thought That waits upon his future days, And would through hatred of the bays Bring that to nought. Though You can fashion everything From nothing every day, and teach The morning stars to sing, You have lacked articulate speech To tell Your simplest want, and known, Wailing upon a woman's knee, All of that worst ignominy Of flesh and bone; And when through all the town there ran The servants of Your enemy, A woman and a man, Unless the Holy Writings lie, Hurried through the smooth and rough And through the fertile and waste, protecting, till the danger past, With human love.
William Butler Yeats
#Prayer

God grant a blessing on this tower and cottage And on my heirs, if all remain unspoiled, No table or chair or stool not simple enough For shepherd lads in Galilee; and grant That I myself for portions of the year May handle nothing and set eyes on nothing But what the great and passionate have used Throughout so many varying centuries We take it for the norm; yet should I dream Sinbad the sailor's brought a painted chest, Or image, from beyond the Loadstone Mountain, That dream is a norm; and should some limb of the Devil Destroy the view by cutting down an ash That shades the road, or setting up a cottage Planned in a government office, shorten his life, Manacle his soul upon the Red Sea bottom.
William Butler Yeats
#Prayer

HA, I am the lord of earth! The noble, Who're in my service, love me. Ha, I am the lord of earth! The noble, O'er whom my sway extendeth, love I. Oh, grant me, God in Heaven, that I may ne'er Dispense with loftiness and love! 1815.*
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
#Prayer

Dylan Thomas
The conversation of prayers about to be said By the child going to bed and the man on the stairs Who climbs to his dying love in her high room, The one not caring to whom in his sleep he will move And the other full of tears that she will be dead, Turns in the dark on the sound they know will arise Into the answering skies from the green ground, From the man on the stairs and the child by his bed. The sound about to be said in the two prayers For the sleep in a safe land and the love who dies Will be the same grief flying. Whom shall they calm? Shall the child sleep unharmed or the man be crying? The conversation of prayers about to be said Turns on the quick and the dead, and the man on the stair To-night shall find no dying but alive and warm In the fire of his care his love in the high room. And the child not caring to whom he climbs his prayer Shall drown in a grief as deep as his made grave, And mark the dark eyed wave, through the eyes of sleep, Dragging him up the stairs to one who lies dead.
Dylan Thomas
#Prayer

Let us be thankful, Lord, for little things - The song of birds, the rapture of the rose; Cloud-dappled skies, the laugh of limpid springs, Drowned sunbeams and the perfume April blows; Bronze wheat a-shimmer, purple shade of trees - Let us be thankful, Lord of Life, for these! Let us be praiseful, Sire, for simple sights; - The blue smoke curling from a fire of peat; Keen stars a-frolicking on frosty nights, Prismatic pigeons strutting in a street; Daisies dew-diamonded in smiling sward - For simple sights let us be praiseful, Lord! Let us be grateful, God, for health serene, The hope to do a kindly deed each day; The faith of fellowship, a conscience clean, The will to worship and the gift to pray; For all of worth in us, of You a part, Let us be grateful, God, with humble heart.
Robert Service
#Prayer

George Herbert
Prayer the Churches banquet, Angels age, Gods breath in man returning to his birth, The soul in paraphrase, heart in pilgramage, The Christian plummet sounding heav'n and earth; Engine against th'Almightie, sinners towre, Reversed thunder, Christ-side-piercing spear, The six-daies world-transposing in an houre, A kinde of tune, which all things heare and fear; Softnesse, and peace, and joy, and love, and blisse, Exalted Manna, gladnesse of the best, Heaven in ordinarie, man well drest, The milkie way, the bird of Paradise, Church-bels beyond the starres heard, the souls bloud, The land of spices; something understood.
George Herbert
#Prayer

When I a verse shall make, Know I have pray'd thee, For old religion's sake, Saint Ben to aid me. Make the way smooth for me, When I, thy Herrick, Honouring thee, on my knee Offer my lyric. Candles I'll give to thee, And a new altar, And thou, Saint Ben, shalt be Writ in my psalter.
Robert Herrick
#Prayer

For those my unbaptized rhymes, Writ in my wild unhallowed times, For every sentence, clause, and word, That's not inlaid with Thee, my Lord, Forgive me, God, and blot each line Out of my book, that is not Thine. But if, 'mongst all, Thou find'st here one Worthy thy benediction, That one of all the rest shall be The glory of my work, and me.
Robert Herrick
#Prayer

When with the virgin morning thou dost rise, Crossing thyself come thus to sacrifice; First wash thy heart in innocence; then bring Pure hands, pure habits, pure, pure every thing. Next to the altar humbly kneel, and thence Give up thy soul in clouds of frankincense. Thy golden censers fill'd with odours sweet Shall make thy actions with their ends to meet.
Robert Herrick
#Prayer