Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE WANDERER: 6. PALINGENSIS: A PRAYER, by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON



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THE WANDERER: 6. PALINGENSIS: A PRAYER, by             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.





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