|
|
|
 |
Bookmark us: |
|
|
|
| A
Poem That Has No Title |
|
To my Creator I sing
Who did soothe me in my great loss;
To the Merciful and Kind
Who in my troubles gave me repose.
Thou with that pow'r of thine
Said: Live! And with life myself I found;
And shelter gave me thou
And a soul impelled to the good
Like a compass whose point to the North is bound.
Thou did make me descend
From honorable home and respectable stock,
And a homeland thou gavest me
Without limit, fair and rich
Though fortune and prudence it does lack.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Your recently saved topics: |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 |
Random Quotation |
|
|
|
|
|
News |
|
|
|
|
Testimonials |
|
|
| |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
