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4.

So tired am I, so weary of to-day, So unrefreshed from foregone weariness, So overburdened by foreseen distress, So lagging and so stumbling on my way, I scarce can rouse myself to watch or pray, To hope, or aim, or toil for more or less,-- Ah, always less and less, even while I press Forward and toil and aim as best I may. Half-starved of soul and heartsick utterly, Yet lift I up my heart and soul and eyes (Which fail in looking upward) toward the prize: Me, Lord, Thou seest though I see not Thee; Me now, as once the Thief in Paradise, Even me, O Lord my Lord, remember me.