The
Apologist’s Evening Prayer
From
all my lame defeats, and oh! Much more,
From
all the victories that I seemed to score;
From
cleverness shot forth on Thy behalf,
At
which, while angels weep, the audience laugh;
From
all my proofs of Thy divinity,
Thou,
Who wouldst give no sign, deliver me.
Thoughts
are but coins. Let me not trust,
instead
Of
Thee, their thin-worn image of Thy head.
From
all my thoughts, even from thoughts of Thee,
O Thou
fair Silence, fall, and set me free.
Lord
of the narrow gate and needle’s eye,
Take
from me all my trumpery, lest I die.
In Christ's love, Fr. Robert Pax
