III.

Nathless for grace I once more sue to Thee, Spurred on by anguish sore and deep distress:-- Yet have I neither art nor voice to plead Before Thy judgment-seat of righteousness. It is not faith, it is not charity, Nor hope that fails me in my hour of need; And if, as some men teach, the soul is freed From sin and quickened to deserve Thy grace By torments suffered on this earth below, The Alps have neither ice, I ween, nor snow To match my purity before Thy face! For prisons fifty, tortures seven, twelve years Of want and injury and woe-- These have I borne, and still I stand ringed round with fears.