OH! Thou that veileth from all eyes The glory of Thy face, And setteth throned behind the skies In Thy abiding-place: Though I but dimly reco'nize Thy purposes of grace; And though with weak and wavering Deserts, and vex'd with fears, I lift the hands I can not wring All dry of sorrow's tears, Make puore my prayers that daily wing Theyr way unto Thy ears! Oh! with the hand that tames the flood And smooths the storm to rest, Make ba'mmy dews of all the blood That stormeth in my brest, And so refresh my hart to bud And bloom the loveliest. Lull all the clammer of my soul To silunce; bring release Unto the brane still in controle Of doubts; bid sin to cease, And let the waves of pashun roll And kiss the shores of peace. Make me to love my feller man -- Yea, though his bitterness Doth bite as only adders can -- Let @3me@1 the fault confess, And go to him and clasp his hand And love him none the less. So keep me, Lord, ferever free From vane concete er whim; And he whose pius eyes can see My faults, however dim, -- Oh! let him pray the least fer me, And me the most fer him. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PRODIGAL SON by DAVID IGNATOW OZYMANDIAS REVISITED by MORRIS GILBERT BISHOP TO A MOUSE, ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST WITH THE PLOUGH by ROBERT BURNS THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW SUMMER. THE SECOND PASTORAL, OR ALEXIS by ALEXANDER POPE THE OL' COW HAWSE by EARL ALONZO BRININSTOOL |