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He prayeth well who loveth well Both man and bird and beast.

The saints will aid if men will call: For the blue sky bends over all.

But maybe prayer is a road to rise, A mountain path leading toward the skies To assist the spirit who truly tries. But it isn't a shibboleth, creed, nor code, It isn't a pack-horse to carry your load, It isn't a wagon, it's only a road. And perhaps the reward of the spirit who tries Is not the goal, but the exercise!

And Satan trembles when he sees The weakest saint upon his knees.

I ask not a life for the dear ones, All radiant, as others have done, But that life may have just enough shadow To temper the glare of the sun; I would pray God to guard them from evil, But my prayer would bound back to myself: Ah! a seraph may pray for a sinner, But a sinner must pray for himself.