Original, serious, and religious poetry by the Rev. Richard Cobbold |
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XII. | REFLECTION XII. |
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Original, serious, and religious poetry | ||
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REFLECTION XII.
In danger Lord, of sin and death and woe,Is every mortal in this vale below.
Our sinful bodies, made of earthly dust,
Are full of heaviness; of pride and lust.
This frame of mine, this body is of sin,
Without imperfect, and no less within.
I feel imperfect; nay I know my form,
Is little more than body of a worm.
Yet spare me God, O let thy Spirit come,
And make this clay its resting place and home.
For nought but thou canst animate the soul,
And make it firm, and stedfast in controul.
Nought but thy Spirit, operating here,
Can quell disease, and overthrow all fear.
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Within this tenement, and seek to bless,
Support my soul, my body, or uphold
The love of truth, above the love of gold.
But thou canst keep and cherish and impart,
Thy peace and comfort in the human heart.
In mine preserve them! Lord preserve in mine,
That dear good seed which leads me to be thine.
Original, serious, and religious poetry | ||