Thomas Traherne (Томас Трэхерн)
Sin
Sin! O only fatal woe, That mak'st me sad and mourning go! That all my joys dost spoil, His Kingdom and my Soul defile! I never can agree With thee! Thou! Only thou! O thou alone, And my obdurate heart of stone, The poison and the foes Of my enjoyments and repose, The only bitter ill, Dost kill ! Oh! I cannot meet with thee, Nor once approach thy memory, But all my joys are dead, And all my sacred Treasures fled As if I now did dwell In Hell. Lord O hear how short I breathe! See how I tremble here beneath A Sin! Its ugly face More terror, than its dwelling place Contains (O dreadful Sin!) Within! THE RECOVERY Sin! wilt thou vanquish me? And shall I yield the victory ? Shall all my joys be spoil'd, And pleasures soil'd By thee? Shall I remain As one that's slain And never more lift up the head? Is not my Saviour dead? His blood, thy bane, my balsam, bliss, joy, wine, Shall thee destroy; heal, feed, make me divine.
Thomas Traherne’s other poems:
899
