By Nirina Nancy Mignon
Father,
Vainly I tell Thee to
Incline my ear;
Pierce my heart;
As oft, as if taken a publican’s routine
Will I abrase my chest:
When will You cease to decline me, Hallowed friend of the bereft?
Smith of all, as blind as I am to Thine working cause,
To which way doth stretch?
Of which realms exile, is refuge to the reprieved?
The most dejected of all sinners as I am,
Idly swelt’ring, hiding from Thee
Will I at the vesper’s Evening
Fitted to retire,
Acquit myself as if endow’d,
For mine absence as the wandering miser doth.
I, the least of Flock
Inchoate and strange,
Yet unforsaken and scornless of Thine will
If it pleases You, Father,
Beseech, to receive me in Thine bosom.
Chasten my heart, abster mine fabric;
Whence ready, kiss me with Thine sacrament.
Bind thine Spirit to my darling,
As the strictest of tethers,
As armature to my filament.
And bless those that came before me that are preferred.
Seat me among the steadfast, age th’ richness of
Mine to full form, whilst giving atrophy to that of me defiling,
Which stricks you of peace, as the musician corrects
The aria from which disease arises.
To the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,
Amen.