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 shall aspire,
Each tender yearning to include all men
In universal love!
Perfected, then,
My prayer. He hears this righteous call
Through darkest night.
When you have loved,
Then you have prayed aright! A correction was made in the September 1945 Journal: poem originally attributed to Catherine M. Osterland.
Poems
PRAYING
From the June 1945 issue of The Christian Science Journal
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