(A Shakespearian Love Sonnet)


No Saint am I when striving in prayer,
Alone and wretched, I would not prevail.
But, the Spirit of Thee, O’ Lord, doth bear;
My sufferings with me, as I deeply bewail.

Disdains Thee not the broken spirit I give;
Grace flows from Thy Heart without falter. 
By Jesus’ Great Passion, withal, we live,
And mine contrite heart upon Thine altar.

When I am willing to trust and believe,
Thou art in my bosom, as Heaven above, 
I know for me, Thou surely dost grieve,
For We are Entwined Together in Love.

      Of Love, cometh the fruit of faithful talk,
      So, I rise-up with Thee, God, and walk