ART Thou not weary of our selfish prayers?
Forever crying, 'Help me, save me, Lord!'
We stay fenced in by petty fears and cares,
Nor hear the song outside, nor join its vast accord.

Ann yet the truest praying is a psalm:
The lips that open in pure air to sing,
Make entrance to the heart for health and balm;
And so life's urn is filled at heaven's all-brimming spring.

Still are we saying, 'Teach us how to pray'?
O teach us how to love! and then our prayer
Through other lives will find its upward way,
As plants together seek and find sweet life and air.

Thy large bestowing makes us ask for more:
Prayer widens with the world wherethrough love flows.
Needy, though blest, we throng before Thy door:
Let in Thy sunshine, Lord, on all that lives and grows!