Classic Poem

Grant me, oh! Lord, the attitude of prayer!
My joys, my griefs, my sins, to lay them all
At Thy dear feet!—I would not prostrate fall,
But I would have my spirit always there.
From such a vantage point, could I not bear
The fierce temptations which my heart enthrall,
And with Thy help so lift the heavy pall
Of anguished grief. Perchance if I could share
Each secret thought and raise it unto Thee,
Just as the dew is lifted from the flower
By the great Sun's benign compelling ray,
My faltering glance could so Thy beauty see,
Until my spirit drawn by Thy pure power
Would turn to prayer as night must turn to day.