The Angler's Prayer .
Above my desk hangs the Angler's Prayer. I smile every time I read: God give me grace to catch a fish,
So large that even I,
When talking of it afterwards May never need to lie.
Some frustrated person must have written the piece. I do not know whether there are other lines, or who wrote them, but having had a passion for fishing since I was a boy, I know how ardently an angler longs to catch a fish worthy of his skill. The small boy who hand-lines from the bridge and the salmon expert hung with gear both have a wonderful optimism. Every time I put up my rod and step to the side of the lake I experience a thrill of anticipation. I look at the sky, the contour of the hills, and listen to the water among the stones and make my first cast with enthusiasm and faith. Sometimes when I go wearily home I think of the angler's prayer, and it seems a sad, yet fervent plea, prompted by so much unfulfilled hope. One is aware of such fatigue and a cheerless nightfall when the basket is empty or the catch is not worthy of the table. Recover- ing from the day, one's imagination kindles. The fish that got away becomes a leviathan. It could not be otherwise. One's sincerest friends conceal their smiles, for it is an odd disease and requires sYinpathetic treatment such as only one angler can accord another.
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