Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE WANDERER: 6. PALINGENSIS: A PRAYER, by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: My saviour, dare I come to thee Last Line: Lord! There is nothing hid from thee. Alternate Author Name(s): Meredith, Owen; Lytton, 1st Earl Of; Lytton, Robert Variant Title(s): Palingensis Subject(s): Travel; Journeys; Trips | ||||||||
MY Saviour, dare I come to Thee, Who let the little children come? But I? ...my soul is faint in me! I come from wandering to and fro This weary world. There still his round The Accuser goes: but Thee I found Not anywhere. Both joy and woe Have passed me by. I am too weak To grieve or smile. And yet I know That tears lie deep in all I do. The homeless that are sick for home Are not so wretched. Ere it break, Receive my heart; and for the sake, Not of my sorrows, but of Thine, Bend down Thy holy eyes on mine, Which are too full of misery To see Thee clearly, though they seek. Yet, if I heard Thy voice say..."Come," So might I, dying, die near Thee. It shames me not, to have passed by The temple-doors in every street Where men profaned Thee: but that I Have left neglected, choked with weeds, Defrauded of its incense sweet From holy thoughts and loyal deeds, The fane Thou gavest me to enshrine Thee in, this wretched heart of mine. The Satyr there hath entered in; The Owl that loves the darkened hour; And obscene shapes of night and sin Still haunt, where God designed a bower For angels. Yet I will not say How oft I have aspired in vain, How toiled along the rugged way, And held my faith above my pain, For this Thou knowest. Thou knowest when I faltered, and when I was strong; And how from that of other men My fate was different: all the wrong Which devastated hope in me: The ravaged years; the excited heart, That found in pain its only part Of love: the master misery That shattered all my early years, From which, in vain, I sought to flee: Thou knowest the long repentant tears, Thou heard'st me cry against the spheres, So sharp my anguish seemed to be! All this Thou knowest. Though I should keep Silence, Thou knowest my hands were free From sin, when all things cried to me To sin. Thou knowest that, had I rolled My soul in hell-flame fifty-fold, My sorrow could not be more deep. Lord! there is nothing hid from Thee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RICHARD, WHAT'S THAT NOISE? by RICHARD HOWARD LOOKING FOR THE GULF MOTEL by RICHARD BLANCO RIVERS INTO SEAS by LYNDA HULL DESTINATIONS by JOSEPHINE JACOBSEN THE ONE WHO WAS DIFFERENT by RANDALL JARRELL THE CONFESSION OF ST. JIM-RALPH by DENIS JOHNSON SESTINA: TRAVEL NOTES by WELDON KEES TO H. B. (WITH A BOOK OF VERSE) by MAURICE BARING THE LAST WISH by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON THE WANDERER: 2. IN FRANCE: AUX ITALIENS by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON THE WANDERER: 2. IN FRANCE: THE CHESSBOARD by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |
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