This thing I ask of my Lord:
That when my soul becomes lofty, I receive tears,
And that my arrogant heart will be scorched with truth.
Then I may dwell at the side of God,
And my soul will be lifted up.
As the proud heart which stands in grace,
So is the soldier who sleeps in battle;
When his enemy comes, he will be surrounded,
He will lay down his rifle in the face of his foe.
Only in prison will he learn to be watchful,
And he will find humility through pain.
2 comments:
I know that feeling all too well.
Wow. I like this one, too. Your poetry reminds me of Puritan prayers (theologically solid and well crafted).
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