(As our poor hearts deceive themselves so oft,)
Thou! O Omnipotent! canst make it warm,—
Warm as thy love, strong as thy Son’s strong tears,
And pure as thine own essence. Formed by Thee,
Saved by thy mercy from thy wrath, we all
Are guilty ingrates, and the best of men
Hath sins perchance which might outweigh the worth
Of all the angels. I, at least, have sinned,
Sinned long and deeply; and if still my heart,
Warped by its own bad passions, or allured