Friday, November 25, 2011

THE APOLOGIST'S EVENING PRAYER By C.S. Lewis

From all my lame defeats and oh!  Much more
From all the victories that I seemed to score;
From cleverness shot forth on Thy behalf
At which, while angels weep,
the audience laugh;
From all my proofs of Thy divinity,
Thou, who wouldst give no sign, deliver me.

Thoughts are but coins.  Let me not trust instead
Of Thee, their thin-worn image of Thy head.
From all my thoughts,
even from my thoughts of Thee,
O thou fair silence, fall, and set me free.
Lord of the narrow gate and the needle’s eye,
Take from me all my trumpery lest I die.

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