Selfish Prayer

OW we, poor players on Life's little stage,Thrust blindly at each other in our rage,Quarrel and fret, yet rashly dare to prayTo God to help us on our selfish way.

We think to move Him with our prayer and praise,To serve our needs, as in the old Greek daysTheir gods came down and mingled in the fightWith mightier arms the flying foe to smite.

The laughter of those gods pealed down to men,For Heaven was but earth's upper story thenWhere goddesses about an apple strove,And the high gods fell humanly in love.

We own a God whose presence fills the sky,—Whose sleepless eyes behold the worlds roll by,—Whose faithful memory numbers, one by one,The sons of men, and calls them each His son.