If I could feel
that in the healing of my imperfections
Thou wouldst be glorified,

if I could know
that in my weakness being by Thee transformed
the world would praise Thee more,

I would be not less guilty or resigned
but more zealous,
out of self-pity into pitiless action,
and praising
Thee for my sins that wait Thy cleansing.

Therefore descend, O fire of faith!
burn over the scrubby waste of my flat soul
that Spring unhampered
may burgeon.