Prayer is the world-plant's purpose, the bright flower,
The ultimate meaning of the stem and leaves;
The spire of the church; and it receives
Such lightening calm as comforts, not aggrieves,
⁠And with it brings the fructifying shower.

⁠Prayer is the hand that catcheth hold on peace:
The living heart of good and nobleness,
Whose pulses are the measure of the stress
Wherewith He us doth — we do him — possess;
⁠When these do fail, our very lives decrease.

⁠Who uses prayer, a friend shall never miss;
If he should slip, a timely staff and kind
Placed in his grasp by hands unseen shall find;
Sometimes upon his forehead a soft kiss;
⁠And arms cast round him gently from behind.