A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/Sonnet—My Strength is Made Perfect in Weakness (Ferdinand de Gramont)
Sonnet.—MY STRENGTH IS MADE PERFECT IN WEAKNESS.
Cured, but still weak, like him I sometimes feel
That hath the dropsy, from his burden freed;
Of help Divine who has continued need,
And cannot march, but still appears to reel.
Happy the blind from birth with holier zeal,
The paralytic with more faith, who heed
At once the Saviour's words sublime, and speed
Clear-eyed and strong, with nothing left to heal.
But, though less full, unmeasured and not vain
The grace that's given me. May I watch with care,
Daily and nightly on the couch of pain,
Attentive to the Voice that says, 'Beware!
What thou hast done, thou yet may'st do again,
What others do, thou too might'st rashly dare!'