Henry Charles Beeching, ed. (1859–1919). Lyra Sacra: A Book of Religious Verse. 1903.
By Richard Chenevix Trench (1807–1886)Prayer
| WHEN prayer delights thee least, then learn to say, | |
| Soul, now is greatest need that thou shouldst pray. | |
| Crookèd and warped I am, and I would fain | |
| Straighten myself by thy right line again. | |
| O come, warm sun, and ripen my late fruits; | 5 |
| Pierce, genial showers, down to my parched roots. | |
| My well is bitter; cast therein the tree, | |
| That sweet henceforth its brackish waves may be. | |
| Say, what is prayer, when it is prayer indeed? | |
| The mighty utterance of a mighty need. | 10 |
| The man is praying, who doth press with might | |
| Out of his darkness into God’s own light. | |
| White heat the iron in the furnace won; | |
| Withdrawn from thence, ’tis cold and hard anon. | |
| Flowers from their stalks divided presently | 15 |
| Droop, fail, and wither in the gazer’s eye. | |
| The greenest leaf divided from its stem | |
| To speedy withering doth itself condemn. | |
| The largest river from its fountain head | |
| Cut off leaves soon a parched and dusty bed. | 20 |
| All things that live from God their sustenance wait, | |
| And sun and moon are beggars at His gate. | |
| All skirts extended of thy mantle hold, | |
| When angel-hands from heaven are scattering gold. | |