A stranger, and alone, I past those scenes <br />We past so late together; and my heart <br />Felt something like desertion, when I look'd <br />Around me, and the well-known voice of friend <br />Was absent, and the cordial look was there <br />No more to smile on me. I thought on Lloyd; <br />All he had been to me. And now I go <br />Again to mingle with a world impure, <br />With men who make a mock of holy things, <br />Mistaken, and of man's best hope think scorn. <br />The world does much to warp the heart of man, <br />And I may sometimes join its ideot laugh. <br />Of this I now complain not. Deal with me, <br />Omniscient Father! as thou judgest best, <br />And in thy season tender thou my heart. <br />I pray not for myself; I pray for him, <br />Whose soul is sore perplex'd: shine thou on him, <br />Father of Lights! and in the difficult paths <br />Make plain his way before him. His own thoughts <br />May he not think, his own ends not pursue; <br />So shall he best perform thy will on earth. <br />Greatest and Best, thy will be ever ours! <br /> <br />August 1797<br /><br />Charles Lamb<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-charles-lloyd/
