(1792-1822 / Horsham / England)

Lxx. _A Prayer For Strength._

Carico d'anni.

Burdened with years and full of sinfulness,
With evil custom grown inveterate,
Both deaths I dread that close before me wait,
Yet feed my heart on poisonous thoughts no less.

No strength I find in mine own feebleness
To change or life or love or use or fate,
Unless Thy heavenly guidance come, though late,
Which only helps and stays our nothingness.

'Tis not enough, dear Lord, to make me yearn
For that celestial home, where yet my soul
May be new made, and not, as erst, of nought:

Nay, ere Thou strip her mortal vestment, turn
My steps toward the steep ascent, that whole
And pure before Thy face she may be brought.

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Comments (11)

Goooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooood tenk you
drops to perfection's remembrance a tear Great conceptualization.
What a true and beautiful promise in death.
Shelley as always... deep, brooding and full of meaning.
How stern are the woes of the desolate mourner As he bends in still grief o'er the hallowed bier, nicely written
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