God Strike the Weary Eyes (Maundy Thursday)

God strike the weary eyes,

Twin vessels of selfishness;

Grand prismatic pools;

Self-seeking, ever

To a fault

--- to the death.

Lord forbear these quaking bones,

These skeleton limbs

Entwined by creeping vines

Of desire

And preservation.

 Hear the fire crackling.

Smell the smoke rising,

Kindled to consume the chaff.

God pardon filthy hands,

So apt to ply the trade of hate

Or pay the sordid price of pride.

Strike the sword that strikes the heart

Of a fellow man,

Out of fear,

Despair,

Or misguided dreams.

Remove, O Lord, these tortured ears

Which perceive morning’s sorrowful refrain

Echoing beneath the din

Of every voice,

Every cry,

Every year.

God forgive this wretched soul

That is not pure

That is not good

That does not seek

Anything but its own twisted will.

Lord tear away this heart of stone

This hardened coal

That is not true

That is not kind

That does not love the least,

The enemies, or neighbors.