A Prayer
O god, our Father, if we had but truth!
Lost truth—which thou perchance
Didst let man lose, lest all his wayward youth
He waste in song and dance;
That he might gain, in searching, mightier powers
For manlier use in those foreshadowed hours.
If, blindly groping, he shall oft mistake,
And follow twinkling motes
Thinking them stars, and the one voice forsake
Of Wisdom for the notes
Which mocking Beauty utters here and there,
Thou surely wilt forgive him, and forbear!
Oh love us, for we love thee, Maker—God!
And would creep near thy hand,
And call thee “Father, Father,” from the sod
Where by our graves we stand,
And pray to touch, fearless of scorn or blame,
Thy garment’s hem, which Truth and Good we name.