|
|
Prayer
By George MacDonald
We doubt the word that tells us: Ask,
And ye shall have your prayer;
We turn our thoughts as to a task,
With will constrained and rare.
And yet we have; these scanty prayers
Yield gold without alloy:
O God, but he that trusts and dares
Must have a boundless joy!
Extra Info:
|
|
Printable Page
Add Your Thoughts on this poem.
This page viewed 404 times.
|
|