Classic Poem

Thou prayst not, save when in thy soul thou prayst;
Disrobing of thyself to clothe the poor;
The words thy lips shall utter then, thou sayst,
They are as marble, and they shall endure;
Pray always; for on prayer the hungry feed;
Its sound is hidden music to the soul,
From low desires the rising strains shall lead,
And willing captives own thy just controul;
Draw not too often on the gushing spring,
But rather let its own o'erflowings tell,
Where the cool waters rise, and thither bring
Those who more gladly then will hail the well;
When gushing from within new streams like thine,
Shall bid them ever drink and own its source divine.