No uttered word is ours—no solemn tone
The reverent air bears upward to the sky:
No eloquence of meaning, borne along
Of voice and accent, meet the God on high.
But dare ye tell us that we do not pray—
We who so truly “lift up hands of prayer,”
And by the speaking gesture mark the way,
Our heart’s desire would take to reach Him there?
“Our Father!” that appealing gesture lifts.
With force more potent than the spoken word,
Desire, petition for the precious gift
Held in the hand of One All-Seeing Lord.
“In Heaven!” we picture in the circling sweep
Of arm and hand, the glorious dome above;
“Holy Thy Name!” with reverent movement keep
The sacred thought of purity and love.
“Thy Kingdom!” with imperial touch we show.
The badge of royalty—the sceptre’s sway;
And that Thy glorious Will may work and grow
Potent and perfect, this and every day.
Our opened hands with daily bread to fill
The Lord we ask, “Forgive as we forgive”:
O hearing brothers! We are like you still—
The hardest this to pray, and this to live.
From tempter’s touch, whene’er beside he stands—
We pray Thee still our weakness to defend:
And by the symbol strong of broken bands
We crave deliverance, succor, to the end.
Once more the royal sign—“Thy Kingdom Thine!”
“The Power,” that sign is vital, living, strong:
“The Glory”: rays of brightness seem to shine
And scintillate around us, sweet and long.
“Forever and forever!” round and round
The finger sweeps, and who shall tell us then
Expression for the prayer we have not found,
Nor join us in our glad and grand “Amen”?
