Page 51 - Ebook-Rosary

Despair

This bleeding heart, forlorn,

Cruel fate hath tossed untill

In thousand fragments torn,

is left to suffer still.

From this poor form entrapped,

All life, all hope hath gone,

Pale with Death's garment wrapped,

And yet must linger on...

Descend, Most Holy one,

And with Thy helping hand

Pray, let all grief be shun,

And take my to Thy land.

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