<May 11 1915>
A PRAYER is forming on my tightened lips --
Lord grant that I may keep my soul from hate!
I have known love, I have been pitiful --
Lord, I would keep my grief compassionate!
Pain-maddened cries I hear from out the sea, Upstaring at me, faces of the dead;
Those silent bodies seem to cry aloud
Those silent souls are still and comforted.
And we are here to bear the weight of pain --
Oh, keep the poison from its awful task!
Lord, let me be as they are ere I hate,
Let me love on! This, this is what I ask!
However long the way, there is a turning, Somewhere beyond the storm there lies a land Where Peace abides, where love shall live again,
And men shall greet with friendly outstretched hand
While little children laugh, and women weep
With happiness -- Oh, Lord, until that hour
Keep Thou my soul, keep Thou my tenderness,
Keep Thou my trust in Thy far-seeing power!