The arrows of hate that pierce the heart, I place them at thy feet The lance of words that tear apart The beautiful and sweet,
The evil lords who with us play And with our good compete, The higher thoughts that often stray I lay them at thy feet.
My ignorance, my pride, my will The errors I repeat The dark that lies within me still I offer at thy feet.
Poems Undated (1727)
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Narad
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