Thomas R. Lounsbury, ed. (1838–1915). Yale Book of American Verse. 1912.
Elizabeth (Lloyd) Howell 18111896
Elizabeth (Lloyd) Howell110 Miltons Prayer of Patience
I
Men point at me as smitten by God’s frown;
Afflicted and deserted of my kind,
Yet am I not cast down.
I murmur not that I no longer see; Poor, old, and helpless, I the more belong, Father Supreme! to Thee. When men are furthest, then art Thou most near, When friends pass by, my weaknesses to shun, Thy chariot I hear. Is leaning toward me, and its holy light Shines in upon my lonely dwelling-place,— And there is no more night. I recognize Thy purpose clearly shown; My vision Thou hast dimmed, that I may see Thyself—Thyself alone. This darkness is the shadow of Thy wing; Beneath it I am almost sacred—here Can come no evil thing. Trembling, where foot of mortal ne’er hath been, Wrapped in that radiance from the sinless land, Which eye hath never seen! Shapes of resplendent beauty round me throng; From angel lips I seem to hear the flow Of soft and holy song. When heaven is opening on my sightless eyes, When airs from Paradise refresh my brow, That earth in darkness lies. My being fills with rapture,—waves of thought Roll in upon my spirit,—strains sublime Break over me unsought. I feel the stirrings of a gift divine: Within my bosom glows unearthly fire Lit by no skill of mine.