AT morn I ask Thee, lend Thy shelt'ring aid! My hopes and fears before Thy Throne are laid. Like one abashed I stand, prostrate before Thy might, My new-awakened heart hides nothing from Thy sight! My heart, my tongue, too, fails To utter what avails! My skill, my strength, are naught! But Thou, of grace, dost take The prayers which mortals make, The prayers Thy love has taught. So shall my voice ascend, Until my life shall end; The while, within my body's shrine, Dwelleth my soul, Thy gift divine! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...COUNTRY SCHOOLROOM, ADIRONDACK MOUNTAINS by LOUIS UNTERMEYER ON GEORGE HERBERT'S BOOK, THE TEMPLE, SENT TO A GENTLEWOMAN by RICHARD CRASHAW THE RIGHT TO DIE by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR OF THE WARS IN IRELAND by JOHN HARRINGTON |