- HE royal feast was done; the King
- Sought some new sport to banish care,
- And to his jester cried: "Sir Fool,
- Kneel now, and make for us a prayer!"
- The jester doffed his cap and bells,
- And stood the mocking court before;
- They could not see the bitter smile
- Behind the painted grin he wore.
- He bowed his head, and bent his knee
- Upon the Monarch's silken stool;
- His pleading voice arose: "O Lord,
- Be merciful to me, a fool!
- "No pity, Lord, could change the heart
- From red with wrong to white as wool;
- The rod must heal the sin: but Lord,
- Be merciful to me, a fool!
- "'T is not by guilt the onward sweep
- Of truth and right, O Lord, we stay;
- 'T is by our follies that so long
- We hold the earth from heaven away.
- "These clumsy feet, still in the mire,
- Go crushing blossoms without end;
- These hard, well-meaning hands we thrust
- Among the heart-strings of a friend.
- "The ill-timed truth we might have kept--
- Who knows how sharp it pierced and stung?
- The word we had not sense to say--
- Who knows how grandly it had rung!
- "Our faults no tenderness should ask.
- The chastening stripes must cleanse them all;
- But for our blunders -- oh, in shame
- Before the eyes of heaven we fall.
- "Earth bears no balsam for mistakes;
- Men crown the knave, and scourge the tool
- That did his will; but Thou, O Lord,
- Be merciful to me, a fool!"
- The room was hushed; in silence rose
- The King, and sought his gardens cool,
- And walked apart, and murmured low,
- "Be merciful to me, a fool!"
"The Fool's Prayer" is reprinted from The Little Book of American Poets: 1787-1900. Ed. Jessie B. Rittenhouse. Cambridge: Riverside Press, 1915. |
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