Фредерик Уильям Фабер (Frederick William Faber)

To My Reader

Young Reader!—for most surely to the old
These loose, uneven thinkings can but seem
Unlifelike and unreal as a dream,—
O! judge not thou that I have been too bold
With sacred teaching, or have done it wrong
To give fair form or sweetness to my song:
Nor be thou wearied with the changeful vision,
As though with labored and unmeaning skill
I had but rifled fancy at my will,
Or held her hidden order in derision.
O far from that:—these fitful strains keep blending,
Poorly yet truly, strivings gained or lost,
By one in whom two tempers are contending,
Neither of which hath yet come uppermost. 

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