Gothic-Capybara

You speak in thunder here tonight To a soul that cries and calls And begs you set it now aright, And catch it lest it falls. Rolling thunder, gentle rain My pride's umbrella blocks. You open doors, pelt windowpanes While I am locking locks. Acts of worship, morals, smiles Of piety's display Become excuses; I'm beguiled And hold your hands away. Keep hands that shape my spirit Down passive, at your side. I entreat you, Lord, to cure it; And all of it but pride. I felt submission burning; This was my noble aim. I thought I loved the journey Until the tempest came. Alas, the thunder's fading, But in gentle rain you call: "