 | The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith |  |
[Ah me! the secret sin]
“Cleanse thou me from secret faults.”—
Ps. xix. 12.
Ah me! the secret sin
That lurks and works within
The fair, false heart which gives it willing room!
How sure it bringeth blight,
Like nipping frost by night
That withers in the spring its early bloom!
That lurks and works within
The fair, false heart which gives it willing room!
How sure it bringeth blight,
Like nipping frost by night
That withers in the spring its early bloom!
Oh hidden, cherished lust,
Like a small speck of rust
On the sheathed sword—known but to God and me;
What if the weapon good
Unto the sheath be glued
On battle day, and I am shamed by thee?
Like a small speck of rust
On the sheathed sword—known but to God and me;
What if the weapon good
Unto the sheath be glued
On battle day, and I am shamed by thee?
Oh cleanse it from my heart,
And let me play my part
And put away what Thou would'st take away;
Leave not the sharp-toothed moth
That is devouring both
The garment and the soul it doth array.
And let me play my part
And put away what Thou would'st take away;
Leave not the sharp-toothed moth
That is devouring both
The garment and the soul it doth array.
| The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith | |