What shall I do to be just?

Teach me, O Ye in the light,

Whom the poor and the rich alike trust: My heart is aflame to be right.

TWO PRAYERS

CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN

Only for these I pray,

Pray with assurance strong;
Light to discover the way,
Power to follow it long.

Let me have light to see,

Light to be sure and know,
When the road is clear to me
Willingly I go.

Let me have power to do,

Power of the brain and nerve, Though the task is heavy and new Willingly I will serve.

My prayers are lesser than three,
Nothing I pray but two;

Let me have light to see,
Let me have power to do.

THE ELIXIR

GEORGE HERBERT

Teach me, my God and King,
In all things thee to see;
And what I do in anything,
To do it as for thee.

Not rudely, as a beast,

To run into an action;

But still to make thee prepossessed,
And give it his perfection.

A man that looks on glass

On it may stay his eye;

Or if pleaseth, through it pass,
And then the heaven espy.

All may of thee partake,
Nothing can be so mean,

Which, with this tincture, for thy sake
Will not grow bright and clean.

A servant with this clause,
Makes drudgery divine;

Who sweeps a room as for thy laws,
Makes that, and the action, fine.

This is the famous stone

That turneth all to gold;

For that which God doth touch and own
Cannot for less be told.

THE PILLAR OF THE CLOUD

JOHN HENRY NEWMAN

Lead, kindly light, amid the encircling gloom,
Lead thou me on!

The night is dark and I am far from home;
Lead thou me on!

Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene; one step enough for me.

I was not ever thus, nor prayed that thou
Shouldst lead me on;

I loved to choose and see my path; but now
Lead thou me on!

I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears

Pride ruled my will: remember not past years!

So long thy power has blest me, sure it still

Will lead me on

O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent till
The night is gone,

And with the morn those angel faces smile

Which I have loved long since and lost awhile!

THE MYSTIC'S PRAYER

WILLIAM SHARP (Fiona Macleod)

Lay me to sleep in sheltering flame
O Master of the Hidden Fire!
Wash pure my heart, and cleanse for me
My soul's desire.

In flame of sunrise bathe my mind,
O Master of the Hidden Fire,
That, when I wake, clear-eyed may be
My soul's desire.

THE INWARD LIGHT

HENRY SEPTIMUS SUTTON

I have a little inward light, which still
All tenderly I keep, and ever will.

I think it never wholly dies away;
But oft it seems as if it could not stay,
And I do strive to keep it if I may.

Sometimes the wind gusts push it sore aside:
Then closely to my breast my light I hide,
And for it make a tent of my two hands,
And though it scarce might on the lamp abide,
It soon recovers and uprightly stands.

Sometimes it seems there is no flame at all;
I look quite close, because it is so small:
Then all for sorrow do I weep and sigh;
But Some One seems to listen when I cry,
And the light burns up and I know not why.

O God! O Father! hear thy child who cries!

Who would not quench thy flame; who would not dare

To let it dwindle in a sinful air;

Who does feel how all-precious such a prize,

And yet, alas! is feeble and not wise.

Oh, hear, dear Father! For thou knowst the need:
Thou knowst what awful height there is in Thee,—
How very low I am; oh, do Thou feed
Thy light, that it burn ever, and succeed
My life to deepest holiness to lead.

ƒ. PRAYERS OF GRATITUDE

A THANKSGIVING TO GOD

ROBERT HERRICK

Lord, thou hast given me a cell
Wherein to dwell;

A little house, whose humble roof

Is weather-proof;

Under the sparres of which I lie,

Both soft and drie;

Where thou, my chamber for to ward,

Hast set a guard

Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep
Me while I sleep.

Low is my porch, as is my Fate,

Both void of state;

And yet the threshold of my door,

Is worn by the poore,

Who hither come and freely get

Good words, or meat:

Like as my parlour, so my hall

And kitchen's small;

A little butterie, and therein

A little bin,

Which keeps my little loaf of bread

Unchipt, unflead:

Some brittle sticks of thorn and brier
Make me a fire,

Close by whose loving coals I sit,

And glow like it.

Lord I confess, too, when I dine

The pulse is thine,

And all those other bits that bee

There placed by Thee;

The worts, the purslane and the messe
Of watercresse,

Which of thy kindness thou hast sent;

And my content

Makes those and my beloved beet

To be more sweet.

'Tis Thou that crownst my glittering hearth With guiltless mirth;

And giv'st me wassaile bowles to drink,

Spiced to the brink.

Lord 'tis Thy plenty-dropping hand

That soiles my land,

And giv'st me for my bushel sowne

Twice ten for one:

Thou mak'st my teeming hen to lay
Her egg each day;

Beside my healthful ewes to bear
Me twins each yeare;

The while the conduits of my kine
Run creame for wine.

All these and better thou dost send
Me to this end,-

That I should render, for my part,
A thankful heart;

Which, fired with incense, I resigne
As wholly Thine;

But the acceptance, that must be,
MY CHRIST, by thee.