Page:Poems Shipton.djvu/19

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Darkness gathers o'er me,
 I shall fall or flee:
Helper of the helpless,
 Rise and succor me!

Dangers seem to threaten,
 Tempters' wiles assail;
In Thy light I see them,
 Yet I weakly quail.
Strange unholy terrors
 In my bosom rise;
"What distrustful language—
 Heavy groans and sighs!

Thoughts of sin's defilement,
 Born of faithless mood,
Hosts of unclean devils,
 Guests of hell's dark brood,
Leave me lame and mourning,
 Blind to seek and trace
All the glorious beauty
 Of Immanuel's face.

Look, oh, look upon me!
 See my wounds! and hear
In my soul's veiled chambers,
 What dishonoring fear!