Poems by Themis

Charity

Inert and senseless flow on

Sin's years, dark as they came;

And the promptings of Your spirit

Are wasted in my shame.

The reasons and the madness

That You would meet and dole,

The potencies and prayers,

Are bargains of the soul.

Nor question, cry or cunning,

Could now avail my pain;

Would a myriad million Ganges

Now wash me clean again?

When marketings are over,

Your charities unfold,

And touch the bowls of beggars,

And fill them with Your gold.

Page 130