Prayer in Spring

Sometimes less is more, and never more so than in poetry. Last month was National Poetry Month. Many a long poem, verse upon verse, lots of unrequited love, was recited. But for my money, or at least my time, many days storm-tossed, I just like Robert Frost.

His first book was out in 1913, humbly entitled “A Boy’s Will.” It sings still. Among the poems he took pride in sharing was one that blended faith and flowers, his joy and ours.

The poem that might, I hope, lift your day is short, simple, and goes this way. Entitled “A Prayer in Spring,” it might just be the best song in that little book that sings.

“Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers to-day;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.

Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,
Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
And make us happy in the happy bees,
The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.

And make us happy in the darting bird
That suddenly above the bees is heard,
The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,
And off a blossom in mid air stands still.

For this is love and nothing else is love,
The which it is reserved for God above
To sanctify to what far ends He will,
But which it only needs that we fulfil.

And that is it, nothing more, just happiness in God’s creation, accepting flowers and birds at His invitation, and that is all, a late-blooming poem, no strife, illuminating, celebrating, life.