I, Lord, Thy foolish sinner low and small. Lack all. His heart too high was set Who asked. What lack I yet? Woe's me at my most woeful pass I I, Lord, who scarcely dare adore, Weep sore: Steeped in this rotten world I fear to rot. Alas what lack I not? Alas alas for me! alas More and yet more! ''" Nay, stand up on thy feet, betaking thee Bring fear; but much more bring Hope to thy patient King: What, is My pleasure in thy death? I loved that youth who little knew The true Width of his want, yet worshipped with goodwill : So love I thee, and still Prolong thy day of grace and breath. Rise up and do.' ''" Lord, let me know mine end, and certify When I Shall die and have to stand Helpless on Either Hand, Cut off, cut off, my day of grace. ''" Not so: for what is that to thee? I see The measure and the number of thy day. Keep patience, tho' I slay; Keep patience till thou see My Face. Follow thou Me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: MRS. CHARLES BLISS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE DELICACIES by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS CHARLIE MACHREE by WILLIAM JAMES HOPPIN OVERHEARD ON A SALTMARSH by HAROLD MONRO THE MOURNER A LA MODE by JOHN GODFREY SAXE UNDERWOODS: BOOK 1: 5. THE HOUSE BEAUTIFUL by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 1ST SERIES: 8 by EDWARD TAYLOR |