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Sunday, June 29, 2014

Venerable ROBERT SOUTHWELL, Jesuit



IT is a small relief
To say I was thy child,
If, as an ill-deserving foe,
From grace I am exiled.

I was, I had, I could—
All words importing want;
They are but dust of dead supplies,
Where needful helps are scant.

Once to have been in bliss
That hardly can return,
Doth but bewray from whence I fell,
And wherefore now I mourn.

All thoughts of passed hopes
Increase my present cross ;
Like ruins of decayed joys,
They still upbraid my loss.

O mild and mighty Lord !
Amend that is amiss ;
My sin, my sore, Thy love my salve,
Thy cure my comfort is.

Confirm Thy former deed,
Reform that is defiled ;
I was, I am, I will remain-
Thy charge, Thy choice, Thy child.

Life and works of Robert Southwell SJ

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