My Father:
Forgive me: my head bowed low
Is weighted down with sin;
I need not say, you too well know
The rottenness within.
I could not ask for blessings more,
My cup e’en yet o’erflows;
The wicked soul when blest is poor,
His debt still ever grows.
What can I say to you, O Lord,
Who are most just and right;
You cannot make me better, Lord;
I, alone, must fight.
What is this beast within my breast
That o’erpowers me so:
Am I doomed to live with him
And down to Hell to go?
Whence comes his strength, so fierce and great
He flaunts my conscious will;
And shamefully does desecrate
That which I love still.
Is he me, and I this devil,
That oft appears so fair;
And yet within doth so oft revel
In sin’s red, ugly glare?
What can I do to purge my soul?
Oh were it hand or foot!
Dismember and regain the whole
Without this damning root?
But, alas, my heart, my mind,
Cure not by bladed thrust;
Oh! would to God, that he might bind
My soul-consuming lust!
My God is good, and right, and just;
Free agency is mine.
So, I am free, in Hell to rust;
My end, my own design.
This freedom that now drags me low
My stepping stone will be;
I’ll kill that beast within, and know
Eternal life with Thee.
So, my God, in hectic prayer,
I two things only ask;
I cannot else, in my despair,
And in my fearful task:
First, for me, just let me live,
That I may battle long;
And each won battle strength will give,
Till victory be my song.
By everything within me true,
If Thou wilt give me time,
In some far day, my soul all new,
Will dwell in realms sublime.
Next, and most, for others, Lord;
My loved ones sweet and true;
If I fall by sin’s great sword,
Let them dwell with you.
Ease their pang, make them forget
That ever I did live;
Lest one who falls into the jet
To others damage give.
This, my prayer, O Lord of Night,
You know my struggle sore;
You too, have fought this deadly blight,
But now you fight no more.
I know no what the future might,
This only do I ken:
I love Thee, Thy truth and right;
In name of Christ, Amen.