English poem
O thou of purer eyes than to behold
by David Gray (1836–1888)
O thou of purer eyes than to behold Uncleanness! sift my soul, removing all Strange thoughts, imaginings fantastical, Iniquitous allurements manifold. Make it into a spiritual ark; abode Severely sacred, perfumed, sanctified, Wherein the Prince of Purities may abide— The holy and eternal Spirit of God. The gross, adhesive loathsomeness of sin, Give me to see. Yet, O far more, far more. That beautiful purity which the saints adore In a consummate Paradise within The Veil,—O Lord, upon my soul bestow, An earnest of that purity here below.
More by David Gray
- Last night, on coughing slightly with sharp pain
- Lying awake at holy eventide
- Now, while the long-delaying ash assumes
- O God, it is a terrible thing to die
- O winter! wilt thou never, never go
- October’s gold is dim--the forests rot
- Oh many a time with Ovid have I borne
- Oh, beautiful moon! Oh, beautiful moon! again