Prayer in the Desert

O Lord of Bounties, melt thy heaven’s breath, Which spreads its gold around the head of Death,— Which, while it smiles, devours all living things, Giving to Desolation wondrous wings: Lest in the waste Arabia’s star should wane, A little rain, Allah, a little rain. Thou Bountiful, thy Sun is weaving fast The shroud of Earth now in the sand-storm cast; Earth can not weep,—the well of faith is run,— Its rivers and its desert sands are one: O thou Bestower, once more sustain Thy sun-crowned Daughter with a little rain. Quiet this rising phantom-haunted sea Of sands; the Faithful from its fury free; Enchain the monsters of the dire simoom,— Let not the desert be thy children’s tomb. Thou Merciful, assist us to attain Our goal,––a little rain, a little rain! Arabia’s thousand wounds to thee appeal, And with our lips its gaping wounds we seal; Prostrate upon the sands we lift our hearts, Pierced in thy presence by thy flaming darts. Thy children, Allah, in the throes of pain, Pray for a little rain, a little rain!