Wildly falls the night around me,
Chains I cannot break have bound me;
Spirits unrebuked, undriven
From before me darken Heaven;
Creeds bewilder, and the saying
Unfelt prayer makes need of praying.
In this bitter anguish lying
Only Thou wilt hear my crying –
Thou whose hands wash white the erring,
As the wool is at the shearing,
Not with dulcimer or Psalter,
But with tears, I seek Thine altar.
Feet, that trod the mount so weary,
Eyes, that pitying looked on Mary,
Hands, that brought a Father’s blessing,
Heads of little children pressing;
Voice, that said, “Behold thy Mother,”
Lo! I seek ye, and none other.
Look, O gentlest eye of pity,
Out of ion, glorious city!
Speak, O voice of mercy, sweetly!
Hide me, hands of love, completely
Sick, in prison, lying lonely,
Ye can lift me up – Ye only.
In my hot brow soothe the aching,
In my sad heart stay the breaking;
On my lips, the murmurs trembling
Change to praises undissembling;
Make me raise as the’ evangels,
Clothe me with the wings of angels.
Power, that made the few loaves many,
Power, that blessed the wine at Cana,
Power, that said to Lazarus “waken,”
Leave, oh, leave me not forsaken,
Sick, and hungry, and in prison,
Save me, Crucified and Risen!