Sin - Poem by Thomas Traherne
O only fatal woe,
That mak'st me sad and mourning go!
That all my joys dost spoil,
His Kingdom and my Soul defile!
I never can agree
Only thou! O thou alone,
And my obdurate heart of stone,
The poison and the foes
Of my enjoyments and repose,
The only bitter ill,
Dost kill !
I cannot meet with thee,
Nor once approach thy memory,
But all my joys are dead,
And all my sacred Treasures fled
As if I now did dwell
O hear how short I breathe!
See how I tremble here beneath
A Sin! Its ugly face
More terror, than its dwelling place
Contains (O dreadful Sin!)
Sin! wilt thou vanquish me?
And shall I yield the victory ?
Shall all my joys be spoil'd,
And pleasures soil'd
Shall I remain
As one that's slain
And never more lift up the head?
Is not my Saviour dead?
His blood, thy bane, my balsam, bliss, joy, wine,
Shall thee destroy; heal, feed, make me divine.
Comments about Sin by Thomas Traherne
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye