A Quickening Ray

Foment my idle will, Thou Paraclete,

And triumph o'er my cherished sins' deceit!

Disperse Thy beaming rivers bright,

And break this dungeoned soul's dark night!

Each fatal vice

Doth, faux, entice,

Doth, cloy, entreat,

With poison sweet,

My heart, to blind,

And, tangling, bind

Me as a slave

Unto the grave.

Yet, in Thy searing gaze, Christ's pow'r

Shall cause these feral swine to cow'r:

Dispel and drive them down into the sea,

And set this captive hence at liberty!

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on the work of the Holy Spirit

who sanctifies us by the Word of truth,

unblinding eyes and cleansing hearts,

and inspired by Luke 8:31-33

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this is a concrete poem,

shaped in the same pattern as

"The Altar," by George Herbert

titled from "And Can It Be That I Should Gain"