Pardon the evil I have done
To thee, O Lord! this day:
Vouchsafe thy blessed peace to one
Who seeks the heavenly way.
As turns the truant to his home,
When sore and sick is he,
So, penitent and weak, I come,
And give my soul to thee.
’Tis thine, dear Lord; and, if thou wilt,
Protect it through this night;
Or, cleansing it of all its guilt,
Take it to realms of light.
Though o’er the sea and on the land
The raging storms may sweep,
Rocked in the hollow of thy hand
Shall I securely sleep.
I may not know another day,
Nor see the morrow’s sun:
Still, clinging to thy knees, I pray,
“Father, thy will be done.”
Verses of this kind were not objectionable in the eyes of Tutor Watts,
but we can imagine how outraged he felt when he discovered that the
following stanzas were being circulated in Stoke-Newington as a poem
from his pen:—