Prayer is a souls words of thought,
That of which a soul cannot speak,
Hymn is a spirits lyrics sought,
Praise from pilgrims for the forgiveness of the weak.
A villains sins are banished on the lips of a saint,
His illness rough and course,
The rhythm of silent hands coming together as an artist will paint,
A lowly farmer too ill to work, he uses the rhythm as he tends his horse.
In the eyes of the saintly, action is but a symbol,
Of the good-doer who is respected and who is seen,
But a prayer-man, he is the one who is nimble,
As he silently thanks the Lord in his troubles, he is the one of whom the lord is keen.
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