6.
“Oh that my head were waters, and mine eyes a fountain
of tears, that I might weep day and night.”
And yet while I do thus in bonds behold
My Maker and my Judge all lowly bent,
And see in Him the Great Omnipotent,
Thus bowed to bring us back unto the fold,
My sorrow is unmov'd, my heart is cold,—
No stern repentance hath my bosom rent;
My tears long since are dried, my feelings spent,
As at a tale of this world often told.
But if I grieve at this my want of grief,
Thou wilt unto those sorrows bring relief
Which are from want of sorrow, and again
Kindle within my heart that living pain,—
Yearnings of penitential sad belief,
Which ever on my spirit may remain.
