3
SONNET
TO THE SUPREME BEING.
(Translated from Michael Angelo.)
Father! oh, sweet indeed will be my prayers,
If thou wilt lend me virtue for thy shrine;
For this infertile, earthly soil of mine
Can yield no fruit but what thy hand prepares.
Thou sowest the seed to spring to holy deeds,
Which in the heart first germinates and grows;
The lovely paths of goodness no one knows
Until thou shew'st them, and thy Spirit leads.
Oh, Thou, into my mind the thoughts infuse
That may produce in me intense desire
Thy sacred light to follow, and such fire,
That fervent lips may praise thee, and my muse
Be consecrate, and ever free to raise
Pure hymns and incense to thy holy praise!
If thou wilt lend me virtue for thy shrine;
For this infertile, earthly soil of mine
Can yield no fruit but what thy hand prepares.
Thou sowest the seed to spring to holy deeds,
Which in the heart first germinates and grows;
The lovely paths of goodness no one knows
Until thou shew'st them, and thy Spirit leads.
Oh, Thou, into my mind the thoughts infuse
That may produce in me intense desire
Thy sacred light to follow, and such fire,
That fervent lips may praise thee, and my muse
Be consecrate, and ever free to raise
Pure hymns and incense to thy holy praise!
