C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
Elizabeth (Lloyd) Howell (1811–1896)
Milton’s Prayer of Patience
I
Men point at me as smitten by God’s frown,
Afflicted and deserted of my kind;
Yet am I not cast down.
I murmur not that I no longer see:
Poor, old, and helpless, I the more belong,
Father Supreme! to thee.
When men are furthest, then art thou most near;
When friends pass by, my weaknesses to shun,
Thy chariot I hear.
Is leaning toward me; and its holy light
Shines in upon my lonely dwelling-place,—
And there is no more night.
I recognize thy purpose clearly shown:
My vision thou hast dimmed, that I may see
Thyself—thyself alone.
This darkness is the shadow of thy wing;
Beneath it I am almost sacred; here
Can come no evil thing.
Trembling, where foot of mortal ne’er hath been,
Wrapped in that radiance from the sinless land
Which eye hath never seen!
Shapes of resplendent beauty round me throng;
From angel lips I seem to hear the flow
Of soft and holy song.
When heaven is opening on my sightless eyes,
When airs from Paradise refresh my brow,
That earth in darkness lies.
My being fills with rapture,—waves of thought
Roll in upon my spirit,—strains sublime
Break over me unsought.
I feel the stirrings of a gift divine:
Within my bosom glows unearthly fire,
Lit by no skill of mine.