Is Love a boy,—what means he then to strike?

Is Love a boy,—what means he then to strike?
Or is he blind,—why will he be a guide?
Is he a man,—why doth he hurt his like?
Is he a God,—why doth he men deride?
No one of these, but one compact of all:
A wilful boy, a man still dealing blows,
Of purpose blind to lead men to their thrall,
A god that rules unruly—God, he knows.

Boy, pity me that am a child again;
Blind, be no more my guide to make me stray;
Man, use thy might to force away my pain;
God, do me good and lead me to my way;
And if thou beest a power to me unknown,
Power of my life, let here thy grace be shown.