A Morning Prayer, Poem by Rees Prichard

O God of mercy, soft-ey'd Pity's Sire!
For Jesus sake, my num'rous faults pass o'er,
Which more Arithmetic, I own, require
To count, than all the sands upon the shore.

There's not a law in all the sacred code,
That I, woe's me! have not at times transgress'd -
Nor hast thou any gift on me bestow'd,
Which I have not to vicious ends address'd.

Bad are my thoughts, but worse my deeds by far -
Foul is my tongue, and infinite my fraud -
My temper's hot, but very cold my pray'r :
Pardon me all, I've done amiss, O God! -

Pardon me all the crimes that I have done,
E'en from my childhood to the present hour -
Nor let the vengeance on my head come down,
Which I've deserv'd from thy Almighty's pow'r :

But give me grace and strength for ever more
To worship thee, with sanctity of heart :
Aid me, thy wond'rous goodness to adore
In perfect honesty, and void of art.

Remove each obstacle, that's in the way,
And interferes betwixt my God, and me -
And give me pow'r, my due devoirs to pay,
Still unfatigu'd, O Lord, my God! to thee!

From my vain heart each filthy vice eraze,
Each habit I've been ill-accustom'd to -
And, whilst I'm yet alive, the vacant place
With ev'ry grace and virtue stock anew.

Teach me, to keep inviolate thy law -
Teach me, to love it from my very soul -
My rule of life thence let me ever draw,
And always live according to that rule.

Direct me, by thy sacred Spirit, still
To regulate each act, each word, each thought,
According to the dictates of thy will,
And those commandments thou to us hast taught.

My passions, and my appetites restrain,
That I henceforth no wicked act may do;
But may, o'er sin, a perfect conquest gain,
And that invet'rate enemy subdue.

Help me, O Lord, with thy celestial might,
The world, the flesh, the devil, to oppose -
The victor's crown I then may claim of right,
When I have conquer'd those united foes.

Thy servant, Lord! beneath thy wings defend,
And screen me there from ev'ry rude alarm;
Neither permit, by any means, the fiend
To do my soul, or body, any harm.

Keep me, O Lord! from ev'ry slip, and all
The trouble, shame, misfortune, loss, and ill,
Disease, or hurt, that may to me befal;
So it be pleasing to thy holy will.

Enable me, by thy blest Spirit's aid,
In Christian works to spend the present day,
And, whilst I in this vale of tears am stay'd,
My bounden service constantly to pay.

O, may this day, whereon I hail thee now,
Be as directly and devoutly past,
As if I, for a certainty, did know,
That it
wou'd
be - what it
may
be - my last!

Let me not, Lord! the moral change delay,
From morn to morn, unto my latter end;
But, whilst it hitherto is call'd to day,
Let me begin my manners to amend.

Let not the flesh, with daring insolence,
Cause thee to doom my precious soul to woe -
Nor for some few precarious joys of sense,
Condemn it to eternal pains below.

Let not this world's delights and fleeting toys,
Which vanish, like a morning mist, away,
Cause me to lose the rights and real joys
Of that bright world, which never shall decay.

Whilst yet 'tis day, whilst yet the sun is strong,
Cause me to strive and work with all my might,
In those concerns that to my peace belong;
Lest unawares I shou'd be caught by night.

Let me, O Christ! be always ready drest,
(My lamp well trimm'd, and full of oil and light)
And watch thy coming to the wedding-feast,
Whilst heaven's gate lies open to my sight.

When most secure, when most in health I bloom,
Let me not wholly unprepar'd be caught,
But make me think still of the day of doom,
When all my faults must to account be brought.

Make me reflect, whene'er I am alone,
On that exact account, which all that live,
Must for each petty fault which they have done,
Nay, e'en for ev'ry idle story, give.

Wipe, from thy well-kept register, away
All my iniquities recorded there,
And cast not in my teeth, on that dread day,
The keen reproaches I deserve to hear.

Forgive me, now, the debt I ought to pay,
The countless sum which by thy book I owe,
And with the blood of Christ blot quite away
The utmost farthing that to thee is due:

And when thou hast forgiven all that sum,
Enable me to finish my career;
That my blest soul to Paradise may come,
And with my Saviour rest for ever there:

When I, with all th' angelic choir divine,
And heav'nly hosts, shall undismay'd appear,
And with extreme delight to praise him join,
In endless joy, and happiness sincere.