A Prayer

When with day's woes night haunts wake-weary eyes,
How deep a blessing from the heart may rise
On the happy, the beautiful, the good, the wise.

The poor, the outcast, knave, child, stranger, fool —
Need no commending to the merciful;
But, in a world grieved, ugly, wicked, or dull,

Who could the starry influence surmise —
What praises ardent enough could prayer devise
For the happy, the beautiful, the good, the wise?
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