* Note to My Readers: Due to the busyness of the next month and a half, I'm making a few minor changes to my schedule of posting. All posts will continue to be made daily and will consist of material that has not appeared before on this blog. However, because my time will be taken up by my final thesis defense for my Master of Church History degree and by a trip to the Holy Land, several of my ongoing series will be on hold until May.

- On Wednesdays, I'll be posting some of my original poems from my college years, and then in May my "Evangeliad" poems will resume.

- On Thursdays, my series on "How to Be Miserable in Your Christian Life" will wrap up by the end of March. That will conclude that series for now; however, if you enjoyed it, please let me know, because I may add more to it at some later point.

- And on Fridays, my "Glimpses of Grace" series will be on hiatus until May. In the meantime, it will be replaced with a serialized, unpublished novella that I wrote back in 2005, "Worth It All." Beginning in the first week of May, "Glimpses of Grace" will return, this time in the Thursday slot, and a newly-composed adventure novel will be posted on Fridays.

Wednesday, October 14, 2015

A Hymn to My God in a Night of My Late Sickness

I didn't manage to write an original poem this week, in part because I've come down with a brief adverse reaction to a vaccine--better, no doubt, than actually succumbing to the disease it protects me from, but still an onerous happenstance. So, in place of a poem of my own, here's a bit of verse from someone else that fits the theme of my recent experience:

A Hymn to My God in a Night of My Late Sickness

O thou great Power, in whom I move,
For whom I live, to whom I die,
Behold me through thy beams of love,
Whilst on this couch of tears I lie,
      And cleanse my sordid soul within
      By thy Christ’s blood, the bath of sin.

No hallowed oils, no grains I need,
No rags of saints, no purging fire,
One rosy drop from David’s seed
Was worlds of seas to quench thine ire.
      O precious ransom, which once paid
      That Consummatum Est was said;

And said by him that said no more,
But sealed it with his sacred breath.
Thou then, that has dispunged my score,
And dying was the death of Death,
      Be to me now—on thee I call—
      My Life, my Strength, my Joy, my All.

Sir Henry Wotton (1568-1639)

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