My Prayer Poem by Emmanuel Isuku

O lord, help my poor waning soul,
Pray, let rain of strength bestow,
For I wade rivulets of dire pain,
Washing my wares, which sadness did stain.


When comes the frightening howling wind
Which uproots everything firmly pinn'd,
Though it'll tremble my feet which are frail,
Don't allow me fall like the weak, O I pray.


Clad me in royal livery and wares
Quench my sufferings and wipe my tears,
For as the chick hides under its mother-hen,
I run onto you, hiding in your glorious glen.


Make me a famous prince or king,
For as my nightingales of joy sing,
I shall revere you and your holy grace,
Smiles of victory warming my cold face.