Poetry

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When man became
a living soul
And his heart was yet pure;
Merry, meek, willing and all,
uniquely formed
above every creature.

Faced with a choice,
to triumph or fall;
The Tempter teased,
yet did not endure.
Hardened now by sin
said the Roll,
So impenitent that
no physician can cure.

Alas!
All the evil secrets of the heart,
its wicked imaginations,
deceit and guile,
Shall be turned to Hell
and not depart.
Hear! Hear!
Hearken for a while!

Is there amongst the earthy
from the start
who can deliver one
from devil's wile?
O Man from Heaven!
Smite this stony heart!
Purge its bitterness, sorrow, and vile.

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