Spirit of God descend upon my heart
Wean if from earth; through all its pulses move
Stoop to my weakness, mighty as thou art
And make me love as I ought to love
I ask no dream, no prophet ecstasies
No sudden rending of the veil of clay
No angel vision, no opening skies
But take the dimness of my soul away
Teach me to feel that thou art always nigh
Teach me the struggle of the soul to bear
To check the rising doubt, the rebel sighs
Teach me the patience of unanswered prayers
Teach meto love thee as thine angels love
One holy passion filing all my frame
The present of thy descended dove
My heart an alter, and thy love a flame
---George Crowly
No comments:
Post a Comment