Under Especial Blessings.
A Sonnet.
Lord Christ, Lord Christ, oh
! for a little space1
Turn hence. Some day, when I again am low2
In the new dust of whatsoever blow3
Time hath in license, from Thy perfect place4
Ah ! let the awful solace of Thy face5
Sun me, but not now ! Lord, Thou seest me ! How6
Can I, o’erborne by what Thy hands bestow,7
Bear what Thine eyes ? Now, therefore, of Thy grace8
I ask but that if ever, as of yore,9
Thou lookest up and sigh’st, my kneeling thought10
May kiss Thy skirt, and Thou, who know’st if aught11
Touch Thee, mayst know, and, through Thee, what no more12
Is I, but, ne’ertheless, began in me,13
May rise to Him whom no man hath seen, nor can see.14