Inside my mind a constant prayer runs,
That drowns the violent voices and beating drums
Of self-destruction and Satan’s half-truth lies.
The prayer’s a plea — my desperate plea —
To not look right or left or down or behind,
But straight ahead in Jesus’ shining path.
The prayer’s a fervent plea for his return,
For the end of trials and time and pain and death,
For the new creation promised by the Lord.
The prayer’s a cry that God will save us all:
Both friend and foe, my house and every house,
The ignorant man in Amazonia’s hut.
The prayer’s a hope — and not the vaguest wish —
To be secure in what the Cross has wrought,
That mine is not the hand in Jesus’ dish.
The practice of constancy
Keep me from distractions, temptations, and any thought or action that would draw me away from my devotion to you, O Lord. Continue reading “The practice of constancy”