May We Pray?

This poem was written by Ellen Murray, a co-founder of the Penn School on St. Helena Island in South Carolina. The poem was originally published in the National Anti-Slavery Standard on January 11, 1862.

May we pray? - the unwonted query

Has a foreign, far-off sound,

As if it belonged to ages

On the earth no longer found.

Was it said where Syrian shepherds

Watch the "friend of God" at prayer,

When on Mamre's plains the palm trees

Crossed with shade the burning air.

And they turned, with waking reverence,

From the shrines of Baalim

To the new, pure faith, beginning

Then on earth her morning hymn?

Or it may have once been uttered

In the labyrinths of dead,

Where, mind mouldering bones and darkness,

Oft the Christian feast was spread;

And the lamp-light on the altar

In those grave-aisles prophesied

That from martyrs' dust arising

Should the Church be glorified.

Did they say then, low and breathless,

"Is it safe? And may we pray?"

Listening, lest the Roman tyrant

Might have sent his guards that way?

May we pray? This should be only

Asked in hours of spirit woe,

When our hope is failing from us,

When the tears of doubting flow;

Asked none on earth, in heaven,

But our Maker and our God;

Only asked to hear the certain

Answer from His bright abode,

Overwhelming grief in rapture,

Doubt in sweetest extacy:

"Pray, my child, thy Father listens;

Pray, and I will answer thee."

May we pray? They asked it vainly

In a land of law and light,

Where the church bells rung their music,

Where the Sabbath hours were bright.

Utterances of prayer forbidden,

Eager words of praise repressed,

That no hint of swift-winged judgement

Might disturb the master's rest.

But the human soul is stronger

Than a fellow-mortal's will,

And the prayer grew only deeper

While the lips were dull and still;

Till each slave heart in its beating

Was a never-ceasing prayer,

Till the angels caught up anthems

Never breathed on earthly air.

May we pray? The northern soldiers

Scarcely understood that word,

And a thankful thought for freedom

Unawares their spirit stirred.

In their homes, their laughing children

Hush at night their noisy play,

When the loving mother whispers,

"Darlings, it is time to pray."

And the youngest, knelt beside her,

With its stainless baby brow,

Follows, lisping, as its sisters

Say, "May God bless father now."

We may pray! They knelt for praising,

Thanking God for that great boon,

But the voice of grateful blessing

Mingled with their praises soon.

And with holier heart and blessing

Turned the soldier from the place,

Where the aged slave was asking

That, in recompensing grace,

God would bless the sent deliverers

Who had given leave to pray,

And whene'er they called upon Him,

Never, never turn away.

Newport, R. I.

Ellen

Part of a series of articles titled
Poems by Ellen Murray.

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Dues Eversor!

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Mene, Mene

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