I, Lord, Thy foolish sinner low and small. Lack all. His heart too high was set Who asked. What lack I yet? Woe's me at my most woeful pass I I, Lord, who scarcely dare adore, Weep sore: Steeped in this rotten world I fear to rot. Alas what lack I not? Alas alas for me! alas More and yet more! ''" Nay, stand up on thy feet, betaking thee Bring fear; but much more bring Hope to thy patient King: What, is My pleasure in thy death? I loved that youth who little knew The true Width of his want, yet worshipped with goodwill : So love I thee, and still Prolong thy day of grace and breath. Rise up and do.' ''" Lord, let me know mine end, and certify When I Shall die and have to stand Helpless on Either Hand, Cut off, cut off, my day of grace. ''" Not so: for what is that to thee? I see The measure and the number of thy day. Keep patience, tho' I slay; Keep patience till thou see My Face. Follow thou Me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DISAPPOINTED by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR STORM AT SEA (1) by ALCAEUS OF MYTILENE AN ARAB WELCOME by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH UNKNOWN QUANTITY by LEONARD BACON (1887-1954) BABEL: THE GATE OF GOD by GORDON BOTTOMLEY |