Anselmo

Years did I vainly seek the good Lord's grace,     Prayed, fasted, and did penance dire and dread;     Did kneel, with bleeding knees and rainy face,     And mouth the dust, with ashes on my head;     Yea, still with knotted scourge the flesh I flayed,     Rent fresh the wounds, and moaned and shrieked insanely;     And froth oozed with the pleadings that I made,     And yet I prayed on vainly, vainly, vainly!     A time, from out of swoon I lifted eye,     To find a wretched outcast, gray and grim,     Bathing my brow, with many a pitying sigh,     And I did pray God's grace might rest on him.     Then, lo! A gentle voice fell on mine ears -     "Thou shalt not sob in suppliance hereafter;     Take up thy prayers and wring them dry of tears,     And lift them, white and pure with love and laughter!"     So is it now for all men else I pray;     So is it I am blest and glad alway.