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1818–1848

A PRAYER.

Emily Jane Brontë

My God ( oh, let me call Thee mine, Weak, wretched sinner though I be ), My trembling soul would fain be Thine; My feeble faith still clings to Thee.

Not only for the Past I grieve, The Future fills me with dismay; Unless Thou hasten to relieve, Thy suppliant is a castaway.

I cannot say my faith is strong, I dare not hope my love is great; But strength and love to Thee belong; Oh, do not leave me desolate!

I know I owe my all to Thee; Oh, TAKE the heart I cannot give! Do Thou my strength — my Saviour be, And MAKE me to Thy glory live.

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A PRAYER. · Emily Jane Brontë · Poetry Cove