POETRY.
A PRAYER.
LORD, not for light in darkness do we pray, Not that the veil be lifted from our eyes, Nor that the slow ascension of our day Be otherwise.
Not for a clearer vision of the things Whereof the fashioning shall make us great, Not for remission of the peril and stings Of time and fate.
Not for a fuller knowledge of the end Whereto we travel, bruised yet unafraid, Nor that the little healing that we lend Shall be repaid.
Not these, 0 Lord. We would not break the bars Thy wisdom sets about us ; we shall climb Unfettered to the secrets of the stars In Thy good time.
We do not crave the high perception swift When to refrain were well, and when fulfil, Nor yet the understanding strong to sift The good from ill.
Not these, 0 Lord. For these Thou halt revealed, We know the golden season when to reap The heavy-fruited treasure of the field,
The hour to sleep.
Not these. We know the hemlock from the rose, The pure from stained, the noble from the base, The tranquil holy light of truth that glows On Pity's face.
We know the paths wherein our feet should press, Across our hearts are written Thy decrees, Yet now, 0 Lord, be merciful to bless With more than these.
Grant us the will to fashion as we feel, Grant us the strength to labour as we know, Grant us the purpose, ribbed and edged with steel, To strike the blow.
Knowledge we ask not—knowledge Thou has lent, But, Lord, the will—there lies our bitter need, Give us to build above the deep intent The deed, the deed.
JOHN DBINKWATER.
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