 | Poems on The Death of Priscilla Farmer |  |
5
SONNET V.
[When that dear Saint my fancy has possess'd]
When that dear Saint my fancy has possess'd,Cheating my griefs, and then to bitter tears
Leaves me, I seek to calm my aching fears,
Thinking how holily She still suppress'd
Each dim disquietude, looking to Him
The Friend of bowed souls who wait to hear
The “still small voice” to forlorn Sorrow dear!
Then do mine eyes with kindlier sadness swim:—
And I implore, that She whom I did weep
As I had had no hope, as on Death's sleep
No morn arose, when She shall liveliest dart
On each tranc'd sense, may teach my prayers to rise
Impassion'd, and a purer sacrifice,
Lifted by Her, the Priestess of my Heart!
| Poems on The Death of Priscilla Farmer | |