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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=339844" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Confiteor</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The shore-boat lies in the morning light,<br>By the good ship ready for sailing ;<br>The skies are clear, and the dawn is bright,<br>Tho' the bar of the bay is fleck'd with white,<br>And the wind is fitfully wailing ;<br>Near the tiller stands the prit, and the knight<br>Leans over the quarter-railing.<br> <br>'There is time while the vessel tarries still,<br>There is time while her shrouds are slack,<br>There is time ere her sails to the west-wind fill,<br>Ere her tall masts vanish from town and from hill,<br>Ere cleaves to her keel the track ;<br>There is time for confession to those who will,<br>To those who may never come back.'<br> <br>'Sir priest, you can shrive these men of mine,<br>And, I pray you, shrive them fast,<br>And shrive those hardy sons of the brine,<br>Captain and mates of the Eglantine,<br>And sailors before the mast ;<br>Then pledge me a cup of the Cyprus wine,<br>For I fain would bury the past.'<br> <br>'And hast thou naught to repent, my son ?<br>Dost thou scorn confession and shrift ?<br>Ere thy sands from the glass of time shall run<br>Is there naught undone that thou should'st have done,<br>Naught done that thou should'st have left ?<br>The guiltiest soul may from guilt be won,<br>And the stoniest heart may be cleft.'<br> <br>'Have my ears been closed to the prayer of the poor,<br>Or deaf to the cry of distress ?<br>Have I given little, and taken more ?<br>Have I brought a curse to the widow's door ?<br>Have I wrong'd the fatherless ?<br>Have I steep'd my fingers in guiltless gore,<br>That I must perforce confess ?'<br> <br>'Have thy steps been guided by purity<br>Through the paths with wickedness rife ?<br>Hast thou never smitten thine enemy ?<br>Hast thou yielded naught to the lust of the eye,<br>And naught to the pride of life ?<br>Hast thou pass'd all snares of pleasure by ?<br>Hast thou shunn'd all wrath and strife ?'<br> <br>'Nay, certes ! a sinful life I've led,<br>Yet I've suffer'd, and lived in hope ;<br>I may suffer still, but my hope has fled,—<br>I've nothing now to hope or to dread,<br>And with fate I can fairly cope ;<br>Were the waters closing over my head,<br>I should scarcely catch at a rope.'<br> <br>'Dost suffer ? thy pain may be fraught with grace,<br>Since never by works alone<br>We are saved ;—the penitent thief may trace<br>The wealth of love in the Saviour's face<br>To the Pharisee rarely shown ;<br>And the Magdalene's arms may yet embrace<br>The foot of the jasper throne.'<br> <br>'Sir priest, a heavier doom I dree,<br>For I feel no quickening pain,<br>But a dull dumb weight, when I bow my knee,<br>And (not with the words of the Pharisee)<br>My hard eyes heavenward strain,<br>Where my dead darling prayeth for me !<br>Now, I wot, she prayeth in vain !<br> <br>'Still I hear it over the battle's din,<br>And over the festive cheer,—<br>So she pray'd with clasp'd hands, white and thin,—<br>The prayer of a soul absolved from sin,<br>For a soul that is dark and drear,<br>For the light of repentance bursting in,<br>And the flood of the blinding tear.<br> <br>'Say, priest ! when the saint must vainly plead,<br>Oh ! how shall the sinner fare ?<br>I hold your comfort a broken reed ;<br>Let the wither'd branch for itself take heed,<br>While the green shoots wait your care ;<br>I've striven, though feebly, to grasp your creed,<br>And I've grappled my own despair.'<br> <br>'By the little within thee, good and brave,<br>Not wholly shattered, though shaken ;<br>By the soul that crieth beyond the grave,<br>The love that He once in His mercy gave,<br>In His mercy since retaken,<br>I conjure thee, oh sinner ! pardon crave !<br>I implore thee, oh sleeper, waken !'<br> <br>'Go to ! shall I lay my black soul bare<br>To a vain, self-righteous man ?<br>In my sin, in my sorrow, you may not share,<br>And yet, could I meet with one who must bear<br>The load of an equal ban,<br>With him I might strive to blend one prayer,<br>The wail of the Publican.'<br> <br>'My son, I too am a withered bough,<br>My place is to others given ;<br>Thou hast sinn'd, thou sayest ; I ask not how,<br>For I too have sinn'd, even as thou,<br>And I too have feebly striven,<br>And with thee I must bow, crying, 'Shrive us now !<br>Our Father which art in heaven !' '</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Adam+Lindsay+Gordon">Adam Lindsay Gordon</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=339844" data-title="Confiteor de Adam Lindsay Gordon" data-description="The shore-boat lies in the morning light,
By the good ship ready for sailing ;
The skies are clear, and the dawn is bright,
Tho' the bar of the bay is fleck'd with white,
And the wind is fitfully wailing ;
Near the tiller stands the prit, and the ..."></div>
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