A LITANY FOR LATTER-DAY MYSTICS

CALE YOUNG RICE

Out of the Vastness that is God

I summon the power to heal me.
It comes with peace ineffable
And patience, to anneal me.
Ajar I set my soul-doors

Toward unbounded Life
And let the infinitudes of it

Flow through me, vigour-rife.

Out of the Vastness that is God

I summon the power to still me.
It comes from inner deeps divine
With destinies that thrill me;
It follows the hush of every wrong;
And every vain unrest

It banishes; and leaves a bliss
Before all unpossessed.

Out of the Vastness that is God

I summon the strength to keep me,
And from all fleshly fears that fret
With spirit-winds to sweep me.
I summon the faith that puts to flight
All impotence and ills,

And that, thro' the wide universe,
Well-being's breath distills.

THE FOOL'S PRAYER

EDWARD ROWLAND SILL

The royal feast was done; the king
Sought some new sport to banish care,

And to his jester cried: "Sir Fool,

Kneel now, and make for us a prayer!".

The jester doffed his cap and bells,

And stood the mocking court before; They could not see the bitter smile Behind the painted grin he wore.

He bowed his head, and bent his knee
Upon the monarch's silken stool;
His pleading voice arose: “O Lord,
Be merciful to me, a fool!

"No pity, Lord, could change the heart
From red with wrong, to white as wool;
The rod must heal the sin; but, Lord,
Be merciful to me, a fool!

""Tis not by guilt the onward sweep
Of truth and right, O Lord, we stay;
'Tis by our follies that so long

We hold the earth from heaven away.

"These clumsy feet, still in the mire,
Go crushing blossoms without end;
These hard, well-meaning hands we thrust
Among the heart-strings of a friend.

"The ill-timed truth we might have keptWho knows how sharp it pierced and stung! The word we had not sense to say—

Who knows how grandly it had rung?

"Our faults no tenderness should ask,

The chastening stripes must cleanse them all; But for our blunders-oh, in shame

Before the eyes of heaven we fall.

"Earth bears no balsam for mistakes;

Men crown the knave, and scourge the tool

That did his will; but Thou, O Lord,

Be merciful to me, a fool!"

The room was hushed; in silence rose
The King, and sought his gardens cool,
And walked apart, and murmured low,
"Be merciful to me, a fool!"

PRAYER

HENRY VAN DYKE

These are the gifts I ask of thee,

Spirit serene

Strength for the daily task;

Courage to face the road;

Good cheer to help me bear the traveller's load;
And for the hours of rest that come between;

An inward joy in all things heard and seen.

These are the sins I fain would have thee take awayMalice and cold disdain;

Hot anger, sullen hate;

Scorn of the lowly, envy of the great;
And discontent that casts a shadow gray
On all the brightness of a common day.

A CONFESSION

PAUL VERLAINE

Translated by Arthur Symons

O my God, thou hast wounded me with love,
Behold the wound that is still vibrating,
O my God, thou hast wounded me with love.

O my God, thy fear hath fallen upon me,
Behold the burn is there, and it throbs aloud.
O my God, thy fear hath fallen upon me,

O my God, I have known all that is vile,
And thy glory hath stationed itself in me,
O my God, I have known all that is vile.

Drown my soul in floods, floods of thy wine,
Mingle my life with the body of thy bread.
Drown my soul in floods, floods of thy wine.

Take my blood that I have not poured out,
Take my flesh unworthy of thy suffering,
Take my blood that I have not poured out.

Take my brow that has only learned to blush,
To be the footstool of thine adorable feet,
Take my brow that has only learned to blush.

Take my hands because they have labored not,
For coals of fire and for rare frankincense,
Take my hands because they have labored not.

Take my heart that has beaten for vain things,
To throb under the thorns of Calvary,
Take my heart that has beaten for vain things.

Take my feet, frivolous travellers,

That they may run to the crying of thy grace,
Take my feet, foolish travellers.

Take my voice, a harsh and lying noise,
For the reproaches of thy penitence,
Take my voice, a harsh and lying noise.

Take mine eyes, luminaries of deceit,

That they may be extinguished in the tears of prayer, Take mine eyes, luminaries of deceit.

Ah, thou God of pardon and promises,
What is the pit of mine ingratitude!
Ah, thou God of pardon and promises.

God of terror and God of holiness,
Alas, my sinfulness is a black abyss,
God of terror and holiness.

Thou God of peace, of joy and delight,
All my tears, all my ignorances,
Thou God of peace, of joy and delight.

Thou, O God, knowest all this, all this,
How poor I am, poorer than any man,
Thou, O God, knowest all this, all this.

And what I have, my God, I give to thee.