Lenten Sonnet #1

The works I wish all come to naught
While the fleshly lusts do sway my heart.
My high principles so oft forgot
As expedience rules each selfish part.
God's Law makes me toil and feign to rise,
But there is no constancy in man's estate
For despite my deeds and desperate tries
I ne'er shake the aims of a reprobate.
'Tis proved my loathsome self shall not relent,
But I worry not e'en though temptation flails
And Hell assails 'til human will is spent.
When virtue fails Grace peers past my vain travails.
In the self no more, but by Thy Cross I live.
Prostrate I sob, "Dear Lord, Sweet Christ, forgive!"