Poem of the Week · Reflections

poem #564


emily_dickenson colorfulPoem of the week. A selection from one of my childhood heroes, American poet Emily Dickinson. Here, with adept irony, she pops our bubble that we offer anything to God by our spiritual discipline.

#564 (1945)

My period had come for Prayer-
No other Art-would do-
My Tactics missed a rudiment-
Creator-Was it you?

God grows above-so those who pray
Horizons-must ascend-
And so I stepped upon the North
To see this Curious Friend-
His House was not-no sign had He-
By Chimney-nor by Door
Could I infer his Residence-
Vast Prairies of Air
Unbroken by a Settler-
Were all that I could see-
Infinitude-Had’st Thou no Face
That I might look on Thee?
The Silence condescended-
Creation stopped-for Me-
But awed beyond my errand-
I worshipped-did not “pray”-

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