Age Poem by Jan Struther

Pity me, O my people! I am old.
It is a long time since I made the world.
Out of the mist I made it, the mist that swirled
Shapelessly in the void. I was so bold
And full of splendid dreams when I was young . . .
O then I ruled my world as a God should-
Cast down the evildoers, blessèd the good,
Let no man call on me with heart or tongue
Uncomforted. I could banish all despair,
Set lovely vision in a blind man's head,
Make sickness whole, raise the beloved dead:
There was no task too hard for me, no prayer
Too wild.
But now I can do these things no more.
Strength has gone from me; sight and hearing fail;
My great hand trembles, impotent and frail,
And I am a mockery, who was God before.
Pity me, O my people! I am old,
Weary and sorrowful and very cold,
Shaking and mumbling on my throne of gold.