“The Apologist’s Evening Prayer” — C.S. Lewis

From all my lame defeats and oh! much more
From all the victories that I seemed to score;
From cleverness shot forth on Thy behalf
At which, while angels weep, the audience laugh;
From all my proofs of Thy divinity,
Thou, who wouldst give no sign, deliver me.

Thoughts are but coins. Let me not trust instead
Of Thee, their thin-worn image of Thy head.
From all my thoughts, even from my thoughts of Thee,
O thou fair Silence, fall, and set me free.
Lord of the narrow gate and the needle’s eye,
Take from me all my trumpery lest I die.

—-C.S. Lewis

The Valley of Vision, by Arthur Bennett

I was overjoyed when Dan mentioned Arthur Bennett’s book of Puritan prayers,  The Valley of Vision. In Deuteronomy 6:5, we are commanded to “Love the LORD your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your strength;” I love the prayers compiled in The Valley of Vision because they show us how to do all three at once. I only give one example here, but the rest of the prayers in the book are of similar caliber.

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The Infinite and the Finite

Thou Great I AM,

Fill my mind with elevation and grandeur at the thought of a Being

with whom one day is as a thousand years,

and a thousand years as one day

A mighty God who, amidst the lapse of worlds,

and the revolutions of empires,

feels no variableness,

but is glorious in immortality.

May I rejoice that, while men die, the Lord lives;

that, while all creatures are broken reeds,

empty cisterns,

fading flowers,

withering grass,

he is the rock of ages, the fountain of living waters.

Turn my heart from vanity,

from dissatisfactions,

from uncertainties of the present state,

to an eternal interest in Christ.

Let me remember that life is short and unforeseen,

and is only an opportunity for usefulness;

Give me a holy avarice to redeem the time,

to awake at every call to charity and piety,

so that I may feed the hungry,

clothe the naked,

instruct the ignorant,

reclaim the vicious,

forgive the offender,

diffuse the gospel,

show neighborly love to all.

Let me live a life of self-distrust,

dependence on thyself,

mortification,

crucifixion,

prayer.

“Christ the Companion” — Dorothy Sayers

When I’ve thrown my books aside, being petulant and weary,
And have turned down the gas, and the firelight has sufficed,
When my brain’s too stiff for prayer, and too indolent for theory,
Will You come and play with me, big Brother Christ?

Will You slip behind the book-case? Will you stir the window-curtain,
Peeping from the shadow with Your eyes like flame?
Set me staring at the alcove where the flicker’s so uncertain,
Then suddenly, at my elbow, leap up, catch me, call my name?

Or take the great arm-chair, help me set the chestnuts roasting,
And tell me quiet stories, while the brown skins pop,
Of wayfarers and merchantmen and tramp of Roman hosting,
And how Joseph dwelt with Mary in the carpenter’s shop?

When I drift away in dozing, will You softly light the candles
And touch the piano with Your kind, strong fingers,
Set stern fugues of Bach and stately themes of Handel’s
Stalking through the corners where the last disquiet lingers?

And when we say good-night, and You kiss me on the landing,
Will You promise faithfully and make a solemn tryst:
You’ll be just at hand if wanted, close by here where we are standing,
And be down in time for breakfast, big Brother Christ?

Good Friday

Wilt thou love God as he thee ? then digest,
My soul, this wholesome meditation,
How God the Spirit, by angels waited on
In heaven, doth make His temple in thy breast.
The Father having begot a Son most blest,
And still begetting—for he ne’er begun—
Hath deign’d to choose thee by adoption,
Co-heir to His glory, and Sabbath’ endless rest.
And as a robb’d man, which by search doth find
His stolen stuff sold, must lose or buy it again,
The Sun of glory came down, and was slain,
Us whom He had made, and Satan stole, to unbind.
‘Twas much, that man was made like God before,
But, that God should be made like man, much more.

—John Donne, “Holy Sonnet XV”