May 11

Haste to me, Lord, when this fool-heart of mine

Begins to gnaw itself with selfish craving;

Or, like a foul thing scarcely worth the saving,

Swoln up with wrath, desireth vengeance fine.

Haste, Lord, to help, when reason favours wrong;

Haste when thy soul, the high-born thing divine,

Is torn by passion's raving, maniac throng.