Lord Jesus, my King,
I am not yet holy;
Disordered in will,
Affections, desires;
Fears, shames, loathings.

Looking to you,
I come to you; falteringly
I rest myself in you
As fully as I am able —
Frail daughter of dust,
And feeble as frail —

And find that I
Am wholly welcome,
Entirely safe,
Even as I am.
There is no wrong way
For me to approach you,
Nothing I must leave behind.

In your consuming fire,
The bright passionate flame
Of your love, all the dross
Held with me in your embrace
You will consume —
And I will arise.


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