"HAVE fought with beasts!" oh, blessed Paul,
How small were that, if that were all!
But harder far, to fight, with men,
Than beard the lions, in their den!
Men, who concert the secret snare,
To take the guileless, unaware
Men, who, with "bated breath," betray,
And hint the things, they dare not say;
Men, who their sanctity proclaim,
In libels on a neighbour's name;
Men, who their nameless letters scrawl,
And chalk their scandal, on a wall;
Men, who will sit and eat your bread,
Then, lift their heel, to break your head;
Men, who abuse the holiest garb,
To hide the slanderer's poisoned barb.
But, Saviour. Thou hast known them all;
Peter, Iscariot, and Saul:
And, worse than all, Thy Father's face
Averted from Thee, for a space.
Why should the servant hope to be,
From ills, that haunt his Master, free?
Who, the disciple, would accord,
A rule, less rigid, than his Lord?
Then, Saviour, let me clasp Thy Cross,
And count all other things, but loss;
Nor ask, from foes, to be set free;
So, they be, also, foes to Thee!
Welcome the strife with godless men;
The fight, with Satan in his den;
One only thing, I crave, from Thee;
Turn not Thy face, my God, from me!