Prayer is Innocence's friend; and willingly flieth incessant 'Twixt the earth and the sky, the carrier-pigeon of heaven. --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. We may question with wand of science, Explain, decide, and discuss; But only in meditation The Mystery speaks to us. --John Boyle O'Reilly. THE VALLEY OF SILENCE I walk down the Valley of Silence, Down the dim, voiceless valley alone! And I hear not the fall of a footstep Around me--save God's and my own! And the hush of my heart is as holy As hovers where angels have flown. Long ago was I weary of voices Whose music my heart could not win; Long ago was I weary of noises That fretted my soul with their din; Long ago was I weary of places Where I met but the human and sin. And still did I pine for the perfect, And still found the false with the true; I sought 'mid the human for heaven, But caught a mere glimpse of the blue; And I wept when the clouds of the world veiled Even _that_ glimpse from my view. And I toiled on, heart-tired of the human, And I moaned 'mid the mazes of men, Till I knelt, long ago, at an altar, And heard a Voice call me. Since then I walk down the Valley of Silence That lies far beyond mortal ken. Do you ask what I found in the Valley? 'Tis my trysting place with the Divine. When I fell at the feet of the Holy, And about me a voice said, "Be mine," There arose from the depths of my spirit An echo: "My heart shall be thine." Do you ask how I live in the Valley? I weep, and I dream, and I pray; But my tears are as sweet as the dew-drops That fall on the roses in May; And my prayer, like a perfume from censer, Ascendeth to God night and day. In the hush of the Valley of Silence, I dream all the songs that I sing; And the music floats down the dim valley Till each finds a word for a wing, That to men, like the doves of the deluge The message of peace they may bring. But far out on the deep there are billows That never shall break on the beach; And I have heard songs in the silence That never shall float into speech; And I have had dreams in the valley Too lofty for language to reach. And I have seen thoughts in the valley-- Ah, me! how my spirit was stirred! And they wear holy veils on their faces-- Their footsteps can scarcely be heard; They pass through the valley like virgins Too pure for the touch of a word. Do you ask me the place of the Valley, Ye hearts that are harrowed by care? It lieth afar, between mountains, And God and his angels are there; And one is the dark Mount of Sorrow, The other, the bright Mount of Prayer. --Abram Joseph Ryan. HELP THOU MY UNBELIEF