 | Poems by Henry Septimus Sutton |  |
WHO SHALL DELIVER?
He spake;—from vanity, it seem'd to be;Was silent; still he saw 'twas vanity
He own'd his vainness; vanity took possession
Of that most sad confession.
He vow'd to kill the weed, and strove to do 't,
And hew'd and hack'd down to the very root:
Alas, rank vanity would still be thriving
And prosp'ring even in that very striving.
Then fell he down and pray'd:—Lord, take my breath,
And save me from the body of this death.
| Poems by Henry Septimus Sutton | |