Prayers, empty prayers, I know not why I speak—

All orisons fall fast upon deaf ears

Where inane words do granite hearts beseech,

That pay no heed unto my anguished tears.

Perhaps this silence imports cryptic ways

That act by means obscure or deemed occult,

And while unseen, prime providence yet plays

Though on the surface all is grand tumult.

‘How inscrutable His judgment … true His word’

So says scripture of this unseen scheme;

Yet while purporting sovereign endless good—

Oft eyes bear witness to vile deeds obscene.

Blind faith to vindicate and not presume…

We gnaw stale manna while by hell consumed.