Tuesday, September 11, 2007

A Prayer

Lord, I am weary of myself,
Let me more weary be,
Stay not thy hand until I learn
From it for aye to flee,
And all that I have loved, to pour
In lavish floods, on thee.

Do not I leap for joy, when saints
To praise Thy name combine?
Is not Thy name a sweeter sound
Than this poor name of mine?
Do I love better to be praised
Than to hear praise of Thine?

Alas! two passions strong and deep
Contend my soul within,
I love myself, but I love Thee,
And long Thy grace to win,
Long to be like thee, to get free
From the old life of sin.

Which of the twain shall win the day?
Oh empty out this heart,
Dwell there in peace and leave not self
In its remotest part-
I want to yield it all to Thee
Who its dear Master art.

I want to be all eye, all ear,
Jesus, for Thee alone,
To be forgotten, lost, cast out,
Knowing, but all unknown,
To feel Thee sitting as my King
On undisputed thrown.

This is my feeble prayer, oh hear
My poor, my childish cry,
Do for me what I cannot do,
And pass in mercy by.
I have not courage self to slay
Do thou then make it die.


-Elizabeth Prentiss, Golden Hours, pg. 29-31

1 comment:

Katya said...

I really love this poem. ~'::