Saturday, September 09, 2006

Thy doors are deeds


I would go near thee – but I cannot press
Into thy presence – it helps not to presume.
Thy doors are deeds.


My prayers, my God, flow from what I am not;
I think thy answers make me what I am.
Like weary waves thought follows upon thought,
But the still depth beneath is all thine own,
And there thou mov'st in paths to us unknown.
Out of strange strife thy peace is strangely wrought;
If the lion in us pray – thou answerest the lamb!

George MacDonald

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