At the draw,
Of a coarse grained,
And spotted day;
As I fall heavily,
Before the table
Of the Lord;
Sighing keenly,
For the lost flower
Of blamelessness;
And quivering,
At an impure lip;
Dissolved in tears,
My being cries aloud:
At times, Thy purity
Flees from me;
Like a vision
Of the night;
Restore unto me,
Oh Lord,
The joy of Thy