I am not good at reading poetry, most probably partly due to translating untold stuff from and into Latin in times past. But, I found this in and old Encyclpedia and I can relate.
If I have faltered more or less
In my great task of happiness;
If I have moved among my race
And shown no glorius morning face;
If beams from happy human eyes
Have moved me not; if morning skies,
Books and my food; and summer rain
Knocked on my sullen heart in vain:-
Lord, Thy most pointed pleasure take
And stab my spirit broad awake;
Or, Lord, if too obdurate I,
Choose Thou, before that sprit die,
A piercing pain, a killing sin,
And to my dead heart run them in
