Deep loves, fond hopes, and longings infinite.
It hath been wet with tears and dimmed with sighs,
Clinched in my grasp, till beauty hath it none—
Now, from thy footstool where it vanquished lies,
The prayer ascendeth, "May thy will be done."
Take it, O Father, ere my courage fail,
And merge it so in thine own Will, that e'en
If, in some desperate hour, my cries prevail,
And thou give back my will, it may have been
So changed, so purified, so fair have grown,