The Doubter's Prayer

Eternal Power, of earth and air!
  Unseen, yet seen in all around;
Remote, but dwelling everywhere;
  Though silent heard in every sound;

If e'er Thine ear in Mercy lent,
  When wretched mortals cried to Thee,
And if indeed, Thy Son was sent,
  To save lost sinners such as me:

Then hear me now, while kneeling here,
  I lift to Thee my heart and eye,
And all my soul ascends in prayer,
  Oh, give me--Give me Faith! I cry.

While Faith is with me, I am blest;
  It turns my darkest night to day;
But while I clasp it to my breast,
  I often feel it slide away.

Then, cold and dark, my spirit sinks,
  To see my light of life depart;
And every fiend of Hell, methinks,
  Enjoys the anguish of my heart.

What shall I do if all my love,
  My hopes, my toil, are cast away,
And if there be no God above,
  To hear and bless me while I pray?

If this be vain delusion all,
  If death be an eternal sleep
And none can hear my secret call,
  Or see the silent tears I weep!

O help me God! for Thou alone
  Canst my distracted soul relieve;
Forsake it not, it is Thine own,
  Though weak, yet longing to believe.

--Anne Brontë, 1820-1849