XIII. ASH-WEDNESDAY.
“And when he began to sink, he cried out, saying, Lord, save me.”
St. Matt. xiv. 30.
I
Lord! I am thine, thy little child;
Though fiercely still within, and wild
The fires of youth may burn;
Oh be not angry if I weep,
And dread these stormy waters deep,—
Master! to Thee I turn.
II
And, if in zeal and forward haste,
All rashly from the ship I passed,
And tempted danger here,
Too great for one so weak as me,—
Yet, Lord, it was to come to Thee,
Oh let me find Thee near!
III
Now in these days of dimness holy
And spirit-searching melancholy,
Strengthen my drooping heart:
And let me stop each wayward sense
In pure and secret abstinence,
And from the world depart.
IV
The Church, my Mother, calls me on
To follow Jesus, all alone,
Across the desert lea;
And wrestle with the Tempter there
In vigils of incessant prayer,
And with wild beasts to be.
V
And well I know, when weak and faint
With weary days in fasting spent,
I must lose sight of Him:
And peevish thoughts and tempers ill
The ardour of my breast will chill,
And make my lamp burn dim.
VI
Then by the hour that saw me rest,
Safe as a fledgling in his nest,
Within the white robe's fold,
And by the Cross that on my brow
He signed,—the seal that devils know,—
Jesus! Thy son uphold!
VII
But I will quell my doubts and fears,
And on where holy Sinai rears
Its form before my eyes,
For I can see above its head
A rim of growing glory spread,
The light of Easter skies!
