forgive my grief tamed in language

Christian Wiman

This Mind of Dying

God let me give You now this mind of dying
Fevering me back
Into consciousness of all I lack
And of that consciousness becoming proud:

There are keener griefs than God.
They come quietly, and in plain daylight,
Leaving us with nothing, and the means to feel it.

My God my grief forgive my grief tamed in language
To a fear that I can bear.
Make of my anguish
More than I can make. Lord, hear my prayer.

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