Читать книгу Afterwhiles - James Whitcomb Riley - Страница 9

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Years did I vainly seek the good Lord's grace—,

Prayed, fasted, and did penance dire and dread;

Did kneel, with bleeding knees and rainy face,

And mouth the dust, with ashes on my head;

Yea, still with knotted scourge the flesh I flayed,

Rent fresh the wounds, and moaned and shrieked insanely;

And froth oozed with the pleadings that I made,

And yet I prayed on vainly, vainly, vainly!

A time, from out of swoon I lifted eye,

To find a wretched outcast, gray and grim,

Bathing my brow, with many a pitying sigh,

And I did pray God's grace might rest on him—.

Then, lo! A gentle voice fell on mine ears—

"Thou shalt not sob in suppliance hereafter;

Take up thy prayers and wring them dry of tears,

And lift them, white and pure with love and laughter!"

So is it now for all men else I pray;

So is it I am blest and glad alway.