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Title: O Lord! I Nothing Crave But Thee
Author: George Borrow [
More Titles by Borrow]
From the Tartar.
O thou, from whom all love doth flow,
Whom all the world doth reverence so,
Thou constitut'st each care I know;
O Lord! I nothing crave but Thee.
O keep me from each sinful way;
Thou breathedst life within my clay,
I'll therefore serve Thee, night and day;
O Lord! I nothing crave but Thee.
I ope my eyes and see Thy face,
On Thee my musings all I place,
I've left my parents, friends and race;
O Lord! I nothing crave but Thee.
Take Thou my soul, my every thing,
My blood from out its vessels wring,
Thy slave am I, and Thou my King;
O Lord! I nothing crave but Thee.
I speak--my tongue on Thee doth roam;
I list--the winds Thy title boom;
For in my soul has God His home;
O Lord! I nothing crave but Thee.
The world the shallow worldling craves,
And greatness need ambitious knaves,
The lover of his maiden raves;
O Lord! I nothing crave but Thee.
The student needs his bookish lore,
The bigot shrines, to pray before,
His pulpit needs the orator;
O Lord! I nothing crave but Thee.
Though all the learning 'neath the skies,
And th' houries all of paradise,
The Lord should place before my eyes,
O Lord! I'd nothing crave but Thee.
When I through paradise shall stray,
Its houries and delights survey,
Full little gust awake will they,
O Lord! I'll nothing crave but Thee.
For Hadgee Ahmed is my name,
My heart with love of God doth flame,
Here and above I'll bide the same;
O Lord! I nothing crave but Thee.
[The end]
George Borrow's poem: O Lord! I Nothing Crave But Thee
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