Prayer for the Spirits

I am much moved, O son, to find thee here At my command, and in prayer to me drawn near, And briskly to rebuke the lying creed And empty arguments of a biting breed, Who deem the Spirit fulfills but a duty In coming at thy voice, quite glad to be free, Submissive to thy law, to flee and leave anon The dwelling of the world where one lives at request, To cross at last through infinite recesses That sadden far more than weeping for the dead. Great names, then, behold, and with pompous phrases. But if they come to reveal marvelous things Of the worlds in question, to open the horizons Of the ages, and to teach lessons from long springs, All the beginning and end of thy immortal soul, Of the greatness of God, his eternal power, The infinite justice and his sublime love, In payment, thou wilt say, noble jester, If he one day beg of thee a little prayer, Will he be demanding if at times he is annoyed Only at having to pay a little favor, Is he seen, suppliant, to annul all modesty And to beg as much as a poor beggar, To sigh for the bread that nourishes life, the wheat? Oh! believe me, dear son, it is thrice a misfortune! He, then, who thus forgets the pain that passes And the cruel tears of this invisible world, Hearing our voice remains insensible, And does not come on his knees To pray for us as well.

Casimir Delavigne. n Allan Kardec.

Paris. – Typ. of Rouge frères, Dunon et Fresné, rue du Four-Saint-Germain, 43. [1] [v.

Casimir Delavigne.]