A book of English poetry; ed. by T. Shorter

(avery) #1
POBKS o-. RELlOlON.

I am weak, yet strong-
! murmur not that I no lon~1· ee._
Poor, old, and helpleM, I the more beloag,
Father Supreme! to thee.


319

Ob, merci ful One!
When men are farthest then Tuou ar' moat ne&r ;
When friends pa.es by, JIIY weaknesa ah11n,
Tar chariot I hear.

Thy glorious face
Ia leaning towards me-and ita holy light
Shiuea iu upon my lonely dwelling-place,
And there is no more night.

On my bended knee
I recognise thy purp<186 clearly shown-
My vision Thou bast dimm'd, that I may eee
Thyself-Thyself alone.

I have naught to fe4r-
Tbia darkness is the shadow of tl1y win~­
Beneatb it I Am almost aacred-here
Oan come no evil thing.

Oh I I seem to stand
'l.Temblin~, where foot of mortal ne'er bath been,
Wtapp'd m the radiance ofTby a\nlesa hand,
Which eye hath never seen.

Visioua come nnd go-
Shapes of resplendent beauty round me throng,
From angel hpa I seem to hear the flow
Of aon &nd holy song.

It is n othing now,
When heaven is openiug on my sightleu eyes-
When airs from Paradise refreeh QIY brow,
That earth in da.rknesa liee.

In a purer clime
My being fills with n.pture-wavea of thought
RoU in upon my epirit.--atr~ sublime
Bree.k over me unaougbl
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