Page:Amulet 1831.pdf/4

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I offer up affections, Void, violent, and vain; I offer years of sorrow Of the mind, and body's pain:

I offer up my memory— 'Tis a drear and darkened page, Where experience has been bitter, And whose youth has been like age.

I offer hopes, whose folly Only after-thoughts can know, For instead of seeking heaven They were chained to earth below!

Saying, wrong and grief have brought me To thy altar as a home; I am sad and broken-hearted, And therefore am I come.

Let the incense of my sorrow, Be on high, a sacrifice; The worn and contrite spirit alone wouldst not despise!