In My Deepest Wound I Saw Your

Narrow Is The Mansion Of My Soul; Enlarge Thou It, That Thou Mayest Enter In. It Is Ruinous; Repair Thou It. It Has That Within Which Must Offend Thine Eyes; I Confess And Know It. But Who Shall Cleanse It? Or To Whom Should I Cry, Save Thee? Lord, Cleanse Me From My Secret Faults, And Spare Thy Servant From The Power Of The Enemy. I Believe, And Therefore Do I Speak.

When, Therefore, Man Lives According To Man, Not According To God, He Is Like The Devil.

Hear, O God. Alas, For Man's Sin! So Saith Man, And Thou Pitiest Him; For Thou Madest Him, But Sin Is In Him Thou Madest Not. Who Remindeth Me Of The Sins Of My Infancy? For In Thy Sight None Is Pure From Sin, Not Even The Infant Whose Life Is But A Day Upon The Earth.

And How Shall I Call Upon My God, My God And Lord, Since, When I Call For Him, I Shall Be Calling Him To Myself? And What Room Is There Within Me, Whither My God Can Come Into Me? Whither Can God Come Into Me, God Who Made Heaven And Earth? Is There, Indeed, O Lord My God, Aught In Me That Can Contain Thee?

There Is Something In Humility Which, Strangely Enough, Exalts The Heart, And Something In Pride Which Debases It.