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 stood upon the North
To reach this curious Friend.
His house was not; no sign had He
By chimney nor by door,—
Could I infer His residence?
Wide prairies of the air
Unbroken by a settler,
Were all that I could see;
Infinitude, hadst Thou no face
That I might look at Thee?
The silence condescended,
The Heavens paused for me,
But awed beyond my errand
I worshiped—did not pray!
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