My Prayer.

A poem by Charles Sangster

O God! forgive the erring thought,
The erring word and deed,
And in thy mercy hear the Christ
Who comes to intercede.

My sins, like mountain-weights of lead,
Weigh heavy on my soul;
I'm bruised and broken in this strife,
But Thou canst make me whole.

Allay this fever of unrest,
That fights against the Will;
And in Thy still small voice do Thou
But whisper, "Peace, be still!"

Until within this heart of mine
Thy lasting peace come down,
Will all the waves of Passion roll,
Each good resolve to drown.

We walk in blindness and dark night
Through half our earthly way;
Our clouds of weaknesses obscure
The glory of the day.

We cannot lead the lives we would,
But grope in dumb amaze,
Leaving the straight and flowery paths
To tread the crooked ways.

We are as pilgrims toiling on
Through all the weary hours;
And our poor hands are torn with thorns,
Plucking life's tempting flowers.

We worship at a thousand shrines,
And build upon the sands,
Passing the one great Temple, and
The Rock on which it stands.

O, fading dream of human life!
What can this change portend?
I long for higher walks, and true
Progression without end.

Here I know nothing, and my search
Can find no secret out;
I cannot think a single thought
That is not mixed with doubt.

Relying on the higher source,
The influence divine,
I can but hope that light may dawn
Within this soul of mine.

I ask not wisdom, such as that
To which the world is prone,
Nor knowledge ask, unless it come
Direct from God alone.

Send down then, God! in mercy send
Thy Love and Truth to me,
That I may henceforth walk in light
That comes direct from Thee.

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