The poem that has no title

To my Creator I sing 

Who did soothe me in my great loss; 
To the Merciful and Kind 
Who in my troubles gave me repose. 

Thou with that pow’r of thine 
Said: Live! And with life myself I found; 
And shelter gave me thou 
And a soul impelled to the good 
Like a compass whose point to the North is bound. 

Thou did make me descend 
From honorable home and respectable stock, 
And a homeland thou gavest me 
Without limit, fair and rich 
Though fortune and prudence it does lack.

by Jose Rizal

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