| Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900. |
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| 1169. A Far Cry to Heaven |
| | | By Edith Matilda Thomas |
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| WHAT! dost thou pray that the outgone tide be rolled back on the strand, | |
| The flame be rekindled that mounted away from the smouldering brand, | |
| The past-summer harvest flow golden through stubble-lands snaked and sere, | |
| The winter-gray woods upgather and quicken the leaves of last year?— | |
| Thy prayers are as clouds in a drouth; regardless, unfruitful, they roll; | 5 |
| For this, that thou prayest vain things, ’t is a far cry to Heaven, my soul,— | |
| Oh, a far cry to Heaven! | |
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| Thou dreamest the word shall return, shot arrow-like into the air, | |
| The wound in the breast where it lodged be balmed and closed for thy prayer, | |
| The ear of the dead be unsealed, till thou whisper a boon once denied, | 10 |
| The white hour of life be restored, that passed thee unprized, undescribed!— | |
| Thy prayers are as runners that faint, that fail, within sight of the goal, | |
| For this, that thou prayest fond things, ’t is a far cry to Heaven, my soul,— | |
| Oh, a far cry to Heaven! | |
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| And cravest thou fondly the quivering sands shall be firm to thy feet, | 15 |
| The brackish pool of the waste to thy lips be made wholesome and sweet? | |
| And cravest thou subtly the bane thou desirest be wrought to thy good, | |
| As forth from a poisonous flower a bee conveyeth safe food? | |
| For this, that thou prayest ill things, thy prayers are an anger-rent scroll; | |
| The chamber of audit is closed,—’t is a far cry to Heaven, my soul,— | 20 |
| Oh, a far cry to Heaven! | |
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