Page:Poems Shipton.djvu/20

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Withered arms for service,
 And a palsied frame
That hath scarce a heart-throb
 At Thy precious name.

Touch me, cleanse me, heal me!
 Thou didst give me life;
Speak the word, and save me
 From this deadly strife.
Thine is full salvation,
 And the gift is free:
Helper of the helpless,
 Rise and succor me!

Hast Thou cast me from Thee?
 Well Thou mayst. Ah, no!
Hold me fast, sweet Jesus!
 Whither should I go?
Should I seek to hide me
 In some desert spot,
Earth no cavern holdeth
 Where my God is not.

Could I rise to heaven,
 Thus by fears oppressed,
There art Thou! Descending
 To the grave's dark breast,