As a child, the speaker prayed simply because adults told her to. Once she grew old enough to understand what real belief would demand, she stopped. She pictures a vulnerable, almost defiant honesty: fixing her eyes on God’s, unafraid, and telling him not just her small wishes but her confusion about the parts of his plan that made no sense to her. That kind of direct, trusting intimacy with a divine presence is gone now. In times of danger, she aches for the security of a God powerful enough to hold her whole life steady until she can find her own balance again. But balance is something she never quite achieves—it tips constantly, and she exhausts herself just trying to keep it. The mood is quiet, introspective, and faintly sorrowful, shaped by the distance between a child’s easy certainty and an adult’s restless, unsupported poise.
I prayed, at first, a little Girl, — Summary
I prayed, at first, a little Girl, Because they told me to -- But stopped, when qualified to guess How prayer would feel -- to me --
If I believed God looked around, Each time my Childish eye Fixed full, and steady, on his own In Childish honesty --
And told him what I'd like, today, And parts of his far plan That baffled me -- The mingled side Of his Divinity --
And often since, in Danger, I count the force 'twould be To have a God so strong as that To hold my life for me
Till I could take the Balance That tips so frequent, now, It takes me all the while to poise -- And then -- it doesn't stay --