[404] 33

THAT I may see Thy face I am resigned

To bear awhile the weary load of life,

Which I would fain fling off; so hard I find

The shame, the grief, the strife.

I am so cold, so cold; this feeble frame

Is so benumbed with the chill winds of chance,

That, were the world on fire, the encircling flame

Would scarcely break the trance.

I am so bound in trammels of despair,

I think, “Can freedom ever come to me?”

I seem a collar round my neck to wear,

A badge of slavery.

I am so foul, so soiled with frequent vice,

My garments so besmirched with spot and stain,

Not all the waves of Kausar would suffice

To wash me clean again.