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THE PRAYER.
My soul doth pant towards thee,
My God, source of eternal life.
Flesh fights with me:
Oh end the strife,
And part us, that in peace I may
Unclay
My wearied spirit, and take
My flight to thy eternal spring,
Where, for his sake
Who is my king,
I may wash all my tears away,
Thou conqueror of death,
Glorious triumpher o'er the grave,
Whose holy breath
Was spent to save
Lost mankind, make me to be styled
And take me when I die
And go unto my dust; my soul
Above the sky
With saints enrol,
That in thy arms, for ever, I
This last is quite regular, that is, the second stanza is arranged
precisely as the first, though such will not appear to be the case
without examination: the disposition of the lines, so various in length,
is confusing though not confused.
In these poems will be found that love of homeliness which is
characteristic of all true poets--and orators too, in as far as they are
poets. The meeting of the homely and the grand is heaven. One more.
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