To the Mother of God
Holy Mother, while at thy sweetest image I gaze
The weight of my many sins I feel in my breast;
The crystal meres of my baptism tinted now with darker haze,
And I long again to be led beside the waters of rest.
For now, who beholds me, a man of sorrows
Profound only in their utter banalities;
A life lived, primarily, for the morrow
And set running, hither and thither, in pursuit of vanities?
Only thou, in thy tenderest mercies,
Will look upon me with compassion
(Slave to sin, wretched and thirsty)
In the depths of my despair, and despairing inaction.
O Lady, speedily send me thy love and blessing here
Where all is dark, and the shadows drear.