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202.

10s. M.

Anonymous.

The Broken Shield.
172

O, send me not away! for I would drink,

Even I, the weakest, at the fount of life;

Chide not my steps, that venture near the brink,

Weary and fainting from the deadly strife.

Went I not forth undaunted and alone,

Strong in the majesty of human might?

Lo! I return, all wounded and forlorn,

My dream of glory lost in shades of night.

Was I not girded for the battle-field?

Bore I not helm of pride and glittering sword?

Behold the fragments of my broken shield,

And lend to me Thy heavenly armor, Lord!

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