blindness and palsy.

I have come to raise thy trumpet from the dust.

Sleep is no more for me--my walk shall be through showers of
arrows.

Some shall run out of their houses and come to my side--some
shall weep.

Some in their beds shall toss and groan in dire dreams.

For to-night thy trumpet shall be sounded.

From thee I have asked peace only to find shame.

Now I stand before thee--help me to put on my armour!

Let hard blows of trouble strike fire into my life.

Let my heart beat in pain, the drum of thy victory.

My hands shall be utterly emptied to take up thy trumpet.



XXXVI

When, mad in their mirth, they raised dust to soil thy robe, O
Beautiful, it made my heart sick.