"Lord, Lord," I cried, and wondered why I was not healed.
Had I not asked in faith and to God's love appealed?
Yet my petition seemed denied.
For all my little world was troubled and oppressed;
While thought, halfway resentful, found no moment's rest
From all the cares it magnified.
And then I prayed again, not for the healing sign,
But for an honest heart, made clean by Love divine;
For sacrifice of willful ways;
For purer, deeper love, faithful and undefiled;
For true simplicity that crowns a little child
With life of gratitude and praise.
Tense thought relaxed, and then I saw how vastly more
Of good there was than ever I had known before,
And I was still in reverence.
The sun of Truth broke through the clouds of my distress
And showed creation bathed in love and holiness
Without a taint of mortal sense.
