For all the faults, though ne’er so grievous, borne
Upon my soul so perfect made but marred
By misdirected hopes and fears so long,
My prayer attend, O Lord, with mercy sworn.
Thou know’st of whom I speak so no retard,
By extra words, impede or do aught wrong.
Thy faithful servant all her life has loved
And honoured Thee in heart and mind and deed ;
But
now lies low, so hurt by fate ungloved ;
And of thy healing hand so much doth yearn.
Pour out on her what things may do her good ;
What goodness that might be is no concern.
If we were best in wisdom to decide,
What need had we to tame and quench our pride?
[For Sr T]
Janie
Did you write it? It is so beautiful.
Hello Ike,
I wrote it when I was thinking of a lovely lady, Sister Teresa, who has spent most of her long life in Africa and is now very poorly at home to be near her family. I have met her only a couple of times, to go shopping wth my wife. Alas, her shopping days may well be over now and, indeed, her days themselves may be coming to an end.