Alone with Thee, who canst not be alone,
At midnight, in Thine everlasting day;
Lo, less than naught, of nothingness undone,
I, prayerless, pray!
Behold—and with Thy bitterness make sweet,
What sweetest is in bitterness to hide—
Like Magdalen, I grovel at Thy feet,
In lowly pride.
Smite, till my wounds beneath Thy scourging cease;
Soothe, till my heart in agony hath bled;
Nor rest my soul with enmity at peace,
Till Death be dead.
© John B. Tabb