Prayer. (An Experiment in Russian Dactyls.)
Praying now earnestly, Mother of God, come I,
Bending before thy shrine radiant in brilliancy,
Not for salvation, or battle-eve benison,
Not with thanksgiving, or even repentancy.
Not for my own sad soul lost in the wilderness,
Soul of a pilgrim here wandering homelessly;
But for a maiden pure, whom I would trust to thee,
Fervid Protectress from cold inhumanity!
Circle with Fortune this maiden deserving it;
Grant her considerate friends on life’s pilgrimage,
Youth of bright buoyancy, age of reposefulness;
Grant to her sinless soul Hope’s happy peacefulness.
Then—when the farewell hour finally draweth nigh,—
Whether in morn’s hum, or silence of eventide,—
Send forth the best of thine angels to take to thy
Bosom of mercy her peerlessly perfect soul!