Henry Septimus Sutton (1825–1901)

XXII.
JUNE.

PRAYER is the world-plant’s blossom, the bright flower,

A higher purpose of the stem and leaves;—

Or call it the church-spire, whose top receives

Such lightning calm as comforts, not aggrieves,

And with it brings the fructifying shower.

Prayer is the hand that catcheth hold on peace;—

Nay, ’tis the very heart of nobleness

Whose pulses are the measure of the stress

Wherewith He doth us, we do Him, possess:

If these should fail, all our true life would cease.

Who live in prayer a friend shall never miss;

If we should slip, a timely staff and kind

Placed in our grasp by hands unseen shall find;

Sometimes upon our foreheads a soft kiss,

And arms cast round us gently from behind.