Poems (Cary)/Worship

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WORSHIP.
I have no seasons and no times To think of heaven; sometimes at nightI go up on a stair of rhymes, And find the journey very bright:And for some accidental good,Wrought by me, saints have near me stood.
I do not think my heart is hard Beyond the common heart of men,And yet sometimes the best award Smites on it like a stone; and thenA sunbeam, that may brightly strayIn at my window, makes me pray.
The flower I've chanced on, in some nook Giving its wild heart to the bee,Has taught me meekness, like a book Of written preaching; and to seeA corn field ripe, an orchard red,Has made me bow with shame my head.
Of stated rite and formula, A formal use the meaning wears;When mostly in God's works I see And feel his love, I make my prayers,And by the peace that comes, I knowMy worship is accepted so.
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