HAVE pity, Lord! Let me not die alone! Though once I dared my fellow-souls to shrive, I am unclean; with pangs of death I strive. Alas, what healing balm to me was known For every heart that made its fevered moan! But now that I am sick, who shall revive My hopeless faith, or save my soul alive, Since that elixir fails, which was mine own? Spirit of God, Who dwellest e'en in me, Who speakest even by this doubtful breath, Whether for good or ill Thou set me free, Withhold not Truth, although its price be Death: I faint, I die, in scorching plains accurst, Let me drink hemlock, if it slake my thirst! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NO MATTER WHAT, AFTER ALL, AND THAT BEAUTIFUL WORD SO by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE FLOWER BOAT by ROBERT FROST THE FAMILY by KATHERINE MANSFIELD SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: MRS. MERRITT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |