The royal feast was done the king
Sought some new sport to banish care,
And to his jester cried:
“Sir Fool, kneel now, and make for us a prayer!”
The jester doffed his cap and bells,
And stood the mocking court before:
They could not see the bitter smile
Behind the painted grin he wore.
He bowed his head and bent his knee
Upon the monarch’s silken stool
His pleading voice arose
“Oh Lord be merciful to me, a fool!
No pity, Lord, could change the heart
From red with wrong to white as wool
The rod must heal the sin but, Lord
Be merciful to me, a fool!
‘Tis not by guilt the onward sweep
Of truth and right, Oh Lord we stay
‘Tis by our follies that so long
We hold the Earth from Heaven away.
These clumsy feet, still in the mire,
Go crushing blossoms without end
These hard well-meaning hands we trust
Among the heartstrings of a friend.
The ill-timed truth we might have kept-
Who knows how sharp it pierced and stung?
The word we had not sense to say-
Who knows how grandly it had rung?
Our faults no tenderness should ask,
The chastening stripes must cleanse the all
But for our blunders-oh, in shame
Before the eyes of heaven we fall.
Earth bears no balsam for mistakes
Men crown the knave, and scourge the tool
That did his will; but thou, Oh Lord
Be merciful to me, a fool!”
The room was hushed; in silence rose
The King, and sought his garden cool,
And walked apart and murmured low,
“Be merciful to me, a fool!”
– – – written by Edward R. Sill