Stumbling, I halt,
Not knowing how to pray;
And yet, what matter if the words I say
Seem impotent or groping as a child's?
True thought is prayer,
And thought when undefiled
Is known to Him;
Each humble deed and each unselfed desire,
Each thought that to the perfect doth aspire,
Each tender yearning to include all men
In universal love!
Perfected, then,
My prayer. He hears this righteous call
Through darkest night.
When thou hast loved,
Then thou hast prayed aright!
