 | The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince |  |
288
ABJURATION.
'Tis done! 'tis well!—I've freely signed
The Pledge that prompts me to be wise;—
To keep the balance of my mind,
To cast the film from off my eyes:
Help me, divine, unerring Power!
To Thee, not man, do I appeal;
Oh! lend me strength this very hour,
For my eternal weal.
The Pledge that prompts me to be wise;—
To keep the balance of my mind,
To cast the film from off my eyes:
Help me, divine, unerring Power!
To Thee, not man, do I appeal;
Oh! lend me strength this very hour,
For my eternal weal.
How frail—how failing I have been
In man's best duties here below!
My thoughts how dark, my pangs how keen,
He, the All-Wise, can only know.
Yet I have yearned—in sorrow yearned,
To keep my soul unsoiled within;
For I too prematurely learned
The misery of sin.
In man's best duties here below!
My thoughts how dark, my pangs how keen,
He, the All-Wise, can only know.
Yet I have yearned—in sorrow yearned,
To keep my soul unsoiled within;
For I too prematurely learned
The misery of sin.
289
To shun the cup that sometimes cheers,
But often deadens and destroys,
Will not bring back my wasted years,
My withered hopes, my banished joys:
But it may help to make the best
Of what remains of mortal life,—
Yield me an interval of rest,
And banish needless strife.
But often deadens and destroys,
Will not bring back my wasted years,
My withered hopes, my banished joys:
But it may help to make the best
Of what remains of mortal life,—
Yield me an interval of rest,
And banish needless strife.
To scorn the draught that bringeth blight,
Sad waste of body, dearth of soul,
Will not afford the perfect light,
Nor make us calmly, truly whole;
But it may lend us strength to rise
To higher duties, holier aims,—
Give us an impulse towards the skies,
And purify our claims.
Sad waste of body, dearth of soul,
Will not afford the perfect light,
Nor make us calmly, truly whole;
But it may lend us strength to rise
To higher duties, holier aims,—
Give us an impulse towards the skies,
And purify our claims.
A crowd of enemies remain
To curb or conquer, if we can;
A hundred nameless things, that stain
And hurt the better part of man;—
The lust of passion, pride, and gold,
The uncharitable thought and deed,
With errors mixed and manifold,
Must fall ere we are freed.
To curb or conquer, if we can;
A hundred nameless things, that stain
And hurt the better part of man;—
The lust of passion, pride, and gold,
The uncharitable thought and deed,
With errors mixed and manifold,
Must fall ere we are freed.
Here I abjure the bane whose power
Holds countless souls in shameful thrall;
Aroused to reason, from this hour
I shun, scorn, loathe it, once for all!
Humbly, and with remorseful pain,
I ask the merciful Supreme
To banish from my restless brain
The past, a hideous dream.
Holds countless souls in shameful thrall;
Aroused to reason, from this hour
I shun, scorn, loathe it, once for all!
Humbly, and with remorseful pain,
I ask the merciful Supreme
To banish from my restless brain
The past, a hideous dream.
290
Come, Temperance, pioneer and guide
To purer regions of delight,
And help me not to turn aside
From the true path of moral right;
But chiefly thou, Religion, come,
Without thee other aids are frail;
Hope, faith, truth, virtue, are the sum,
These over all prevail.
To purer regions of delight,
And help me not to turn aside
From the true path of moral right;
But chiefly thou, Religion, come,
Without thee other aids are frail;
Hope, faith, truth, virtue, are the sum,
These over all prevail.
| The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince | |