G AZEL

Although my heart the truth of Those who wrong themselves doth show, O Lord!
In virtue of the words Do not despair , Thy love bestow, O Lord!
Beside the mead of truth and calm make aye my soul to go, O Lord!
My virtue's rose to tint and scent as captive do not throw, O Lord!
From vain attachments stain wash pure and clean my heart as snow, O Lord!
Against me place not Thou the loathsome pool of lies of foe, O Lord!
The burning pain of exile no relief can ever know, O Lord!
Enow, if Thou the camphor-salve, the dawn of hope, did show, O Lord!
Thy slave is R a miz; unto none save Thee doth he bend low, O Lord!
Before Thy mercy's gate his tears from eyes and eyelids flow, O Lord!