 | Voices from the Lakes, and Other Poems |  |
162
SONNET. A PENITENT.
“Godly sorrow worketh repentance unto salvation, not to be
repented of.”
Where but to Thee, O Jesu, can I fly!
My guilt is like a sea without a shore,
Which none can fathom and no eye explore.
I smite upon my breast, with many a sigh,
And feel like one almost at point to die.
My heart is bruised, it bleeds at every pore;
Sick unto death, wounded and aching, sore,
What can I do but weep, as here I lie?
Yet, oh, how sweet, how bitter, bitter-sweet,
If with these copious, ever-flowing tears,
I could, like Mary, wash Thy blessed feet,
And feel a hope that trembled thro' my fears!
To touch Thee, hold Thee, this were joy complete—
The joy of saints in yonder happy spheres.
| Voices from the Lakes, and Other Poems | |