I pray, beseech, do nothing less,
I, night and day, beg you to bless.
Unworthy, I would ask for more,
Infer thee, all my life I swore.
My words and woes, hast thou yet heard?
Or have mine prayers been since interred?
Alas, for I have yet to learn,
The reason true behind concern,
For mindful treason I would yearn,
For all of which I least discern.
Hast thou the slightest time of day,
To hear my words and see me pray?
Since young would I, beside my bed,
My hands entwined, my wishes said,
My heart so empty, seek your wraith,
Have all but hope, have all but faith.