A Liturgy for the Weary
- Alyson
- Feb 12
- 2 min read
O God,
When the plodding steps of my secret path go unsung,
My footfalls deadened by the carpet of last year’s leaves,
When all I have said or done slumps down like
A sandcastle before the tide of time,
And when my prayers lie flat upon the floor,
Then, will You lift my bent head
To wonder again at Your handicrafts:
Every bird that trills its morning defiance,
Every tree that stands immovable in the deep earth,
Every star that blazes in the void of infinite black.
Not one is missing from your inventory.
If You have planned and prepared for each of these,
Will I imagine myself forgotten?
No.
Yours is a love as ancient as the first day
And as new as this morning’s sunrise, creeping pink-fingered
Through the frost.
You do not falter. You do not faint. You do not fail.
You know what my gasping heart needs,
Even when I cannot catch my breath.
Breathe new life into every weary creature,
Worn down with a struggle too great,
For whom the night stretches like
A polar winter, with no promise of the dawn.
Strengthen us who kick at the charred ashes
Where hope used to be,
Looking for something to salvage.
When everything has failed us--all powers, all princes, all promises,
When our last candle stub has guttered, and we are standing in the dark.
Kindle us anew, O Light of Life.
Through what we cannot change, change us.
Grant us power as we pass through.
When we walk through the night, teach us to look upon the stars.
And let us not be overcome.
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