Praise And Prayer

DOUBT spake no word in me as there I kneeled. Loathing, I could not praise: I could not thank God for the cup of evil that I drank: I dared not cry upon His strength to shield My soul from weapons it was bent to wield Itself against itself. And so I sank Into the furnished phrases smooth and blank Which we all learn in childhood,—and did yield A barren prayer for life. My voice might mix With hers, but mingled not. Hers was a full Grand burst of music, which the crownèd Seven Must have leaned sideways from their seats to fix In their calm minds. The seraph—songs fell dull Doubtless, when heard again, throughout all heaven.