On Prayer by Eliza Lee Cabot Follen

As through the pathless fields of air
Wandered forth the timid dove,
So the heart, in humble prayer,
Essays to reach the throne of love.

Like her it may return unblest,
Like her again may soar,
And still return and find no rest,
No peaceful, happy shore.

But now once more she spreads her wings,
And takes a bolder flight,
And see! the olive-branch she brings,
To bless her master’s sight.

And thus the heart renews its strength,
Though spent and tempest-driven,
And higher soars, and brings at length
A pledge of peace with Heaven.

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