"Why, J. W! Thought you was raised in rural scenes," Mr. Igoe answers. Ah, he was. But then he was a boy, and now he's a poet. And country sounds have a way of interrupting the making of poetry though they read so beautifully in it.
***
Up there in the upper chamber is where Mr. Riley writes. When the light burns late the neighbors know a poem is coming. Mr. Riley is shut in there alone, and no material interruption must be allowed to call him back to earth. It is said that his face is shining, illumined. His secretary, who sees it coming, goes quietly out and closes the door. Down stairs, Mr. Igoe feeds the ducks bran till they are full to their necks, to stop their quacking. It may last for hours, perhaps all night. And Mr. Riley neither eats nor sleeps. But when he comes down from the heights where he's been, he holds a revelation that is vital with the throb of life. And people who love Riley and his wonderful verse believe that God still meets his chosen seers on the mountain top of transfiguration, even in Lockerbie Street.
Now listen to Mr. Riley's "Prayer Perfect."
Gracious Lord, I pray
Thou wilt look on all I love
Tenderly to-day.
Weed their hearts of weariness
Scatter every care
Down a wake of angels' wings
Winnowing the air.
All release from pain;
Let the lips of laughter
Overflow again.
And with all the needy
O divide, I pray
This vast treasure of content
That is mine to-day.
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