Gazlam Motaung Poet Villanelle

When I was Cast in Mire

When I was cast in mire,Thy hand was near,
Thou sent a ,man, O Lord,to succour me;
Bless him with grace,and guard his path sincere.

I had no roof,no kin,no friendly cheer,
But lay 'mid thorns and cold hostility;
When I was cast in mire,Thy hand was near.

My name was curse,my past a thing of fear,
My bread was shame,my cup iniquity;
Bless him with grace,and guard his path sincere.

That stranger spake-''Thy mother loveth,hear!''
He gave me gold to find mine ancestry;
When I was cast in mire,Thy hand was near.

Now in the Cape I left my heart,a seer,
And pray for him with pure simplicity
Bless him with grace,and guard his path sincere

Let Heaven's light attend his every year,
And lead him,Lord,to thine eternity;
When I was cast in mire,thy hand was near-
Bless him with grace,and guard his path sincere.

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