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Saturday, November 19, 2011

My Own Hymn to God, My God in Sickness

Diamond on diamond
chisel, I
though lodged in stone
will not resist the pressure nor the cut
If incision be, my Lord, required
to make me yours, the jewel of your desire
fit for the hem of your pure panoply,
then Spirit, diamond-fire, facet me
So every ray of yours may find
reflection point.  For I would be
though smallest, yet most costly won
(care in every cut)
and on a blood-red linen
lay me down
to die to
a diamond in the rough.

1 comment:

  1. "And as to others' souls I preach'd Thy word,
    Be this my text, my sermon to mine own,
    'Therefore that He may raise, the Lord throws down.' ”