American Female Poets [an electronic edition]

PRAYER.

(FROM MIRIAM.)

THRASENO.

WHERE wouldst thou seek for peace or quietness, If not beside the altar of thy God?

MIRIAM.

Within these mighty walls of sceptred Rome A thousand temples rise unto her gods, Bearing their lofty domes unto the skies, Graced with the proudest pomp of earth; their shrines Glittering with gems, their stately colonnades, Their dreams of genius wrought into bright forms, Instinct with grace and godlike majesty, Their ever-smoking altars, white-robed priests, And all the pride of gorgeous sacrifice. And yet these things are naught. Rome's prayers ascend To greet th' unconscious skies, in the blue void

Lost like the floating breath of frankincense, And find no hearing or acceptance there. And yet there is an Eye that ever marks Where its own people pay their simple vows, Though to the rocks, the caves, the wilderness, Scourged by a stern and ever-watchful foe! There is an Ear that hears the voice of prayer Rising from lonely spots where Christians meet, Although it stir not more the sleeping air Than the soft waterfall, or forest breeze. Think'st thou, my father, this benignant God Will close his ear, and turn in wrath away From the poor sinful creature of his hand, Who breathes in solitude her humble prayer? Think'st thou He will not hear me, should I kneel Here in the dust beneath his starry sky, And strive to raise my voiceless thoughts to Him, Making an altar of my broken heart?