Help To Those Who Help Themselves

When sin enshrouds me like a murk
And rolls against my mind, like waves
From fens where monster love to lurk.
I know I must ordain my damn.
For knowledge mine of sinful deeds,
Thus lift my soul unto the lamb,
And beg forgiveness full for sin,
And pray my sinful deeds be cleaned;
That might the devil cease to win.
But what the fate, and what the gall?
I fall I fall and fall, never
To win, and ne’er to find a lull.
It seems I’ll be bereft of peace
To thus remain beheld in chains.
Oh! what I’d give this route to cease!
But on it flies, unending sore.
Oh will I never be set free;
But always at the wanton gore?
But God will help, the sin to kill
If I the pleas exchange for feats;
To prove my want, to prove my will,
For who the beggar gives his gold,
But makes him work to gain his save;
To worthy sons of beggars mold.