[I was reminded of this, one of my all-time favourite poems, by today’s Gospel reading, Luke 18:1–8.]

When my devotions could not pierce
Thy silent ears;
Then was my heart broken, as was my verse:
My breast was full of fears
And disorder:

My bent thoughts, like a brittle bow,
Did fly asunder:
Each took his way; some would to pleasures go,
Some to the wars and thunder
Of alarms.

As good go any where, they say,
As to benumb
Both knees and heart, in crying night and day,
Come, come, my God, O come,
But no hearing.

O that thou shouldst give dust a tongue
To cry to thee,
And then not hear it crying! all day long
My heart was in my knee,
But no hearing.

Therefore my soul lay out of sight,
Untuned, unstrung:
My feeble spirit, unable to look right,
Like a nipped blossom, hung
Discontented.

O cheer and tune my heartless breast,
Defer no time;
That so thy favors granting my request,
They and my mind may chime,
And mend my rime.

George Herbert (1593–1633)

Here’s a treat for the Epiphany season: a recording of T.S. Eliot reading his Journey of the Magi. There is something wonderful about the grimness of the seemingly tangential reality of the journey, the pointed pun, and the focus on … oh, hear and read it yourself. It helps to understand that focus to know that this poem was written not long after Eliot’s conversion to Christianity.

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