All this web of destiny,
Torn and tangled, cannot be Newly wove and redesigned By the Godward human mind.
Teach us: so, no more to call Guidance supernatural
To our help, but heart and will- Know ourselves responsible
For our world of wasted good
And our blinded brotherhood.
Lord, our God! to whom from clay,
Blood and mire, Thy peoples pray
Not from Thy cathedral's stair
Thou hearest :-Thou criest through our prayer
For our prayer is but the gate:
We, who pray, ourselves are fate.
h. PRAYERS FOR SPECIAL THINGS
Translated by William Wordsworth
The prayers I make will then be sweet indeed, If thou the spirit give by which I pray; My unassisted heart is barren clay, Which of its native self can nothing feed; Of good and pious works thou art the seed Which quickens where thou say'st it may; Unless thou show us then thine own true way, No man can find it! Father, Thou must lead! Do thou, then, breathe those thoughts into my mind By which such virtue may in me be bred That in thy holy footsteps I may tread; The fetters of my tongue do thou unbind, That I may have the power to sing of thee And sound thy praises everlastingly.
O Great Spirit!
Thou hast made this lake;
Thou hast also created us as Thy children; Thou art able to make this water calm Until we have safely passed over.
Wilt thou forgive that sin where I begun, Which was my sin, though it were done before? Wilt thou forgive that sin, through which I run And do run still, though still I do deplore? When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done; For I have more.
Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I have won Others to sin, and made my sins their door? Wilt thou forgive that sin which I did shun A year or two, but wallowed in a score?
When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done; For I have more.
I have a sin of fear, that when I have spun My last thread, I shall perish on the shore; But swear by thyself, that at my death Thy Son Shall shine as He shines now and heretofore; And, having done that, Thou hast done;
Translated by W. E. Mashiel
What a fine cow your predecessor was! How well she supported us with her milk! Will you not supply us in like manner? You are a God amongst us-
Do not let the sacred place go to ruin; Let one become a thousand:
Let all be well:
Let us have plenty of milk!
Rise, O earth, from out thy slumber, Field of the Creator, rouse thee,
Make the blade arise and flourish, Let the stalks grow up and lengthen, That the ears may grow by thousands, Yet a hundred fold increasing, By my ploughing and my sowing, In return for all my labour.
Ukko, then, of Gods the highest, Father, thou in heaven abiding, Thou to whom the clouds are subject, Of the scattered clouds the ruler,
All thy clouds do thou assemble, In the light make clear thy counsel,
Send thou forth a cloud from eastward,
In the north-west let one gather,
Send thou others from the westward, Let them drive along from southward, Send the light rain forth from heaven, Let the clouds distil with honey,
That the corn may sprout up strongly, And the stalks may wave and rustle. Ukko, then, of Gods the highest, Father of the highest heaven, Heard, and all the clouds assembled, In the light made clear his counsel, And he sent a cloud from eastward, In the north-west let one gather, Others, too, he sent from westward, Let them drive along from southward, Linked them edge to edge together, And he closed the rifts between them, Then he sent the rain from heaven, And the clouds distilled sweet honey, That the corn might sprout up stronger, And the stalks might wave and rustle, Thus the sprouting germ was nourished, And the rustling stalks grew upward, From the soft earth of the cornfield, Though the toil of Vainamoinen.
Here lie I, Martin Elginbrodde, Have mercy o' my soul, Lord God, As I wad do, were I Lord God, An' ye were Martin Elginbrodde.
PRAYER TO THE MOUNTAIN SPIRIT
NAVAJO INDIANS
Translated by Cronyn
Lord of the Mountain, Reared with the mountain, Young man, Chieftain, Hear a young man's prayer! Hear a prayer for cleanness. Keeper of the strong rain, Drumming on the mountain; Lord of the small rain
That restores the earth in newness;
Keeper of the clean rain,
Hear a prayer for wholeness.
Young man, Chieftain,
Hear a prayer for fleetness. Keeper of the deer's way, Reared among the eagles, Clear my feet of slothness. Keeper of the paths of men, Hear a prayer for straightness.
Hear a prayer for courage. Lord of the peaks,
Reared amid the thunders;
Keeper of the headlands
Holding up the harvest,
Keeper of the strong rocks
Hear a prayer for staunchness Young man, Chieftain, Spirit of the Mountain!
PRAYER FOR PAIN
JOHN G. NEIHARDT
I do not pray for peace nor ease, Nor truce from sorrow:
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