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 call 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 hope, keep Thou my tenderness,
Keep Thou my trust in Thy far-seeing power!