It is thy will that I be barred
From all that I would have, O Lord,
Within my fondest dream—how hard
Is living; hard too to discard.

Lord, I in spite of failure toward
My every goal, would yet remain
Content if I but could afford
The merest modicum—no hoard!

No hoard were necessary: vain
Were the desire for overmuch;
While even but a little, fain
In having yet I nor obtain.

The littlest lies far out of touch,
Out from my grasp—as though did guard
Against me as though such-and-such,
Some angel, whilst I claw and clutch.