C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
The Fool’s Prayer
By Edward Rowland Sill (1841–1887)
T
Sought out some new sport to banish care,
And to his jester cried: “Sir Fool,
Kneel now, and make for us a prayer!”
And stood the mocking court before;
They could not see the bitter smile
Behind the painted grin he wore.
Upon the monarch’s silken stool;
His pleading voice arose:—“O Lord,
Be merciful to me, a fool!
From red with wrong to white as wool:
The rod must heal the sin: but Lord,
Be merciful to me, a fool!
Of truth and right, O Lord, we stay;
’Tis by our follies that so long
We hold the earth from heaven away.
Go crushing blossoms without end;
These hard, well-meaning hands we thrust
Among the heart-strings of a friend.
Who knows how sharp it pierced and stung?
The word we had not sense to say,—
Who knows how grandly it had rung?
The chastening stripes must cleanse them all;
But for our blunders,—oh, in shame
Before the eyes of heaven we fall.
Men crown the knave, and scourge the tool
That did his will: but Thou, O Lord,
Be merciful to me, a fool!”
The King, and sought his gardens cool;
And walked apart, and murmured low,
“Be merciful to me, a fool!”