The day wears thin upon this god-like frame;
Despite design (to laugh, to dance, to sing)
I close my eyes and can’t recall my name –
In willful rage and tears I crown me king.
Yet even in this self-inflicted night
I can’t but see the embers glowing low –
They whisper home and hope of faith to sight
And living Love that will not let me go.
And so my heart sways back and forth between
The razor sting of broken life, dreams lost,
And joy profound that only could have been
Procured with Life and Light Himself the cost.
So I must pray, myself of sinners chief,
“Thus I believe, help Thou my unbelief.”