Doxologia Poem by Hannington Mumo

There is a sweet canticle unrecited yet...
The rarest litany of more ideal grace I bet
Ought to have rolled out of my lips I think,
To anon salvage me from this biting brink.

But to which altered heavens should such petitions go,
If extant ethereal heights most contrite orisons ignore?
And which supreme ears might such new petitions hear,
If the kindest trashes all of the past appeals made here?

There are liberating psalms not yet mimed...
The pleasantest tune with angel notes I feel
Ought to have long leaped out of my throat
At once to soften a heart of stubborn steel.

But who would with reward such mellifluous hymns savor,
If hallowed stars all my sweet musical numbers spurned?
And of what manifold glories would flutes and violins tell
If tongue and sinew with utmost praising desires burned?

Why would sullen skies the lonely pilgrim's doxologies mock,
While he calls from the lowest abyss where vilest evils dock?