Prayer
by Phoebe Cary
Father! thou didst hear my prayer.
When I plead with thee to spare,
When I asked for length of years,
Thou didst pitying see my tears,
And thy words in answer were,
"Respite from the sepulchre!"
Lo! no more the prayer I raise:
Life hath waned to evil days;
Veiling in the dust my woes,
I would bless the grave's repose;
Sweeter, sweeter would it be,
Than a lover's dream to me.
Long enough thy child hath been
Struggling in a world of sin,
Long enough have doubts assailed,
Long enough the flesh prevailed,
Long enough hath sorrow tried
One it hath not purified.
In life's hours of rosy dawn,
Hope with white hand let me on,
Showing gorgeous imagery
Of a happier time to be;
But, in noonday's clearer flame,
Blest fruition never came.
Hastening now towards its close
Is the day that brightly rose,
And the hope that fled its prime
Comes not at evening time,
Hear me, pity, and recall,
Ere the midnight shadows fall!
Willing, eager to depart,
Old in years and old in heart,
Waiting but the messanger
To unseal the sepulchre,
Lo! again to Thee I come-
Take me, Father, take me home!
