O come, dear Lord, unbind: like Lazarus, I
Lie wrapped in stifling grave clothes of self-will.
Come give me life that I to death may die.
I stink: the grave of sin is worm-filled still
Despite our turning from its rottenness,
Unwilling to admit that we are bound,
Too proud to mention our begottenness.
Come, open sin’s sarcophagus. I’m wound
In selfishness, self-satisfaction, pride,
Fear of change, demands of love, greed,
Self-hate, sweet sins that come in fair disguise.
Help me accept this death and open wide
The tight-closed tomb. If pain comes as we’re freed,
Your daylight must have first hurt Lazarus’s eyes.
Madeline L'Engle
No comments:
Post a Comment