Years did I vainly seek the good Lord's grace--, <br />Prayed, fasted, and did penance dire and dread; <br />Did kneel, with bleeding knees and rainy face, <br />And mouth the dust, with ashes on my head; <br />Yea, still with knotted scourge the flesh I flayed, <br />Rent fresh the wounds, and moaned and shrieked insanely; <br />And froth oozed with the pleadings that I made, <br />And yet I prayed on vainly, vainly, vainly! <br /> <br />A time, from out of swoon I lifted eye, <br />To find a wretched outcast, gray and grim, <br />Bathing my brow, with many a pitying sigh, <br />And I did pray God's grace might rest on him--. <br />Then, lo! A gentle voice fell on mine ears-- <br />'Thou shalt not sob in suppliance hereafter; <br />Take up thy prayers and wring them dry of tears, <br />And lift them, white and pure with love and laughter!' <br /> <br />So is it now for all men else I pray; <br />So is it I am blest and glad alway.<br /><br />James Whitcomb Riley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/anselmo/
