So tired am I, so weary of today, So unrefreshed from foregone weariness, So overburdened by foreseen distress, So lagging and so stumbling on my way, I scarce can rouse myself to watch or pray, To hope, or aim, or toil for more or less, -- Ah, always less and less, even while I press Forward and toil and aim as best I may. Half-starved of soul and heartsick utterly, Yet lift I up my heart and soul and eyes (Which fail in looking upward) toward the prize: Me, Lord, Thou seest tho' I see not Thee; Me now, as once the Thief in Paradise, Even me, O Lord my Lord, remember me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BIGLOW PAPERS: 3. WHAT MR. ROBINSON THINKS by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL WITH A GUITAR, TO JANE by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY OEDIPUS AT COLONUS: OLD AGE by SOPHOCLES THE MINSTREL; OR, THE PROGRESS OF GENIUS by JAMES BEATTIE AT THE LAST by RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE EPITAPH by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN FAR EAST by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN INDISPENSABLE by BERTON BRALEY PARLEYINGS WITH CERTAIN PEOPLE OF IMPORTANCE: FRANCIS FURINI by ROBERT BROWNING |