TOO weary to dream,
Too languid to pray,
Though with dreams and with prayers
I would fill the whole day;
For I love to dream,
And I fain would pray;
But I work the whole day,
And dream when I may,
And scarcely have ever
A moment to pray.

This toiling, plodding,
Prayerless elf;
Or, this soulful, mindful,
Inner self;
Thro’ numberless hours,
Or moments few,
Which is the false,
And which the true?
For I love to dream,
And I fain would pray;
But I work the whole day,
And dream when I may,
And scarcely have ever
A moment to pray.