The Prioress at Her Morning Prayers (12)
In the darkness of early morn,
Before the sun had sparked the dawn,
Before its mantle had been spread
O'er the East its golden threads,
The Prioress sank down on her knees
And clasped her hands in fervent plea
And intoned her favorite daily prayer
To the still and velvet air:
'God spare me from all wicked thoughts,
Grant me the peace I long have sought,
Make this day a peaceful one
That I might dote upon your Son;
God grant me now the Peace of Christ
The hours to come be free of strife,
That I might labor in contemplation
Of
the healing power of His Resurrection.'.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem