For so ’twas planned, thy guest as well as I: 
    Warned by his death another way I walk
    To meet him where he waits to live with me.

LXIX.

WAITING FOR DEATH.

Di morte certo.

    My death must come; but when, I do not know: 
    Life’s short, and little life remains for me: 
    Fain would my flesh abide; my soul would flee
    Heavenward, for still she calls on me to go.

    Blind is the world; and evil here below
    O’erwhelms and triumphs over honesty: 
    The light is quenched; quenched too is bravery: 
    Lies reign, and truth hath ceased her face to show.

    When will that day dawn, Lord, for which he waits
    Who trusts in Thee?  Lo, this prolonged delay
    Destroys all hope and robs the soul of life.

    Why streams the light from those celestial gates,
    If death prevent the day of grace, and stay
    Our souls for ever in the toils of strife?

LXX.

A PRAYER FOR STRENGTH.

Carico d’anni.

Burdened with years and full of sinfulness,
    With evil custom grown inveterate,
    Both deaths I dread that close before me wait,
    Yet feed my heart on poisonous thoughts no less.

No strength I find in mine own feebleness
    To change or life or love or use or fate,
    Unless Thy heavenly guidance come, though late,
    Which only helps and stays our nothingness.

’Tis not enough, dear Lord, to make me yearn
    For that celestial home, where yet my soul
    May be new made, and not, as erst, of nought: 

Nay, ere Thou strip her mortal vestment, turn
    My steps toward the steep ascent, that whole
    And pure before Thy face she may be brought.

LXXI.

A PRAYER FOR PURIFICATION.

Forse perche d’ altrui.

Perchance that I might learn what pity is,
    That I might laugh at erring men no more,
    Secure in my own strength as heretofore,
    My soul hath fallen from her state of bliss: 
Nor know I under any flag but this
    How fighting I may ’scape those perils sore,
    Or how survive the rout and horrid roar
    Of adverse hosts, if I Thy succour miss. 
O flesh!  O blood!  O cross!  O pain extreme! 
    By you may those foul sins be purified,
    Wherein my fathers were, and I was born! 
Lo, Thou alone art good:  let Thy supreme
    Pity my state of evil cleanse and hide—­
    So near to death, so far from God, forlorn.

LXXII.

A PRAYER FOR AID.

Deh fammiti vedere.