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AB IMO PECTORE (4) - ZaunköniG - 09.08.2014 AB IMO PECTORE I LORD of pure hopes and holy influence ! Fill all my heart with soft assuaging thoughts, Let me be touched with that divinest sense Which is not hasty in unmannered torts, But goes in wistful silence, like a nun Wrapped in her veil of mercies through the earth To tender ministrations ; let me shun The cold thin laughter of the cynic's mirth, The miser's lust, the cheat's degrading plots, The pride of place and social circumstance, And all th' intemperate fevers that are blots Upon the soul's white radiance of romance ; Destroy all spites, O Lord ! all secret evils That hold me down to sympathy for devils. II BE pitiful, O God ! through all the years ! And when I cannot see Thy glories shine On field or sky, nor any light divine In my own heart because of bitter tears That blind me, and when darkness reigns, and fears Annul my joys, and my sad spirits pine Like flowers drenched in rain of burning brine, Or tender buds a freezing season sears, O Lord ! of mercies then, and peaceful days, And immemorial quiet, let me feel (Even me, alas ! who cannot rightly plead) The full inflowing fervour of Thy grace, Which in my heart perchance may come to heal The piteous wounds that now for ever bleed. III AH ! God ! I said, is this my way to go ? This rayless pit where murky mists uproll, Cold as a wind that wanders round the pole, Must I endure its unimagined woe, And strain to quell its terrors, till I grow Blind as a runner ere he touch the goal, And as he loses, shall I lose control Of heart and limb, and perish even so ? No voice makes answer, and no beams dispel The pall of doubt that on my spirit lies ; No songs of joy enchant ; no silver bell Rings out glad peals through these disastrous skies ; But on this path that circles down to hell Only wild echoes of despair arise. IV THIS is the time no other now at last, Free from the sins that held my soul in bonds, As slimy things are held in slimy ponds, And may not 'scape, now ere the conquered past (That like a demon with wild eyes aghast, Stares from behind huge poison-spotted fronds) Infects me with the spirit that responds To the old habits I have lately cast Wholly behind me, now let me be quick To run upon the path that leads ahead, Not daunted, nor confused by any trick Of circumstances ; but seeing still the red Far dawn that soon will be a blaze of light If only I refuse to think of night. |