50
poems.
PARAPHRASE OF THE ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-NINTH PSALM.
O thou Eternal Source of every good!Whose eye surveys creation's utmost bound,Whose piercing glance my secret soul can read,And mark the errors that are lurking there,How shall I seek Thy face, how raise to TheeThe imperfect thoughts by worldly care debased?How purify those thoughts, and make them meetWith Thee, Supreme Perfection, to commune?Nothing is from Thy searching glances hid;And ere my thoughts are known unto myself,Thou, God, canst understand each secret wish,Each aspiration for eternal truth,Each groveling hope to earthly things confined.
How can imperfect mortals comprehendEternal Wisdom? How can sinful manAspire to hold communion with the GodMost Mighty and Most Good? Vainly our mindsDesire to penetrate Thy Wisdom's spring,Hidden from mortal eye, but clear and brightTo Him who first created earth and heaven.Our minds, though heaven-illumined, cannot graspSuch knowledge. I would flee thy presence dread,And seek a spot to Thy pure gaze unknown.
I may not enter heaven; for there thy glanceWould overwhelm my spirit. Could I bear