Our altar is the dewy sod-
Our temple yon blue throne of God:
No priestly rite our souls to bind-
We bow before the Almighty Mind.
Oh, Thou whose realm is wide as air-
Thou wilt not spurn the Gipsies' prayer:
Though banned and barred by all beside,
Be Thou the Outcast's guard and guide.
Poor fragments of a Nation wrecked-
Its story whelmed in Time's neglect-
We drift unheeded on the wave,
If God refuse the lost to save.
Yet though we name no Fatherland-
And though we clasp no kindred hand-
Though houseless, homeless wanderers we-
Oh give us Hope, and Heaven with Thee!
The Gipsy's Prayer
Sam G. Goodrich
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Poem topics: heaven, hope, lost, poor, time, blue, guide, wide, mind, story, nation, almighty, save, prayer, guard, god, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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