I have become old and tired. My hands are wrinkled and at times shake as with a palsy. My mind is clouded and empty except for glimpses of things real and imagined. Past and illusional events coming and going kaleidoscope-like in my minds eye. Despite how I feel, my body is still strong. It is my heart and mind that are weak.
The light within me dims and begins to fail. At one time it rose and shone bright as the morning star! Oh! how it has fallen, how it has fallen. Where has that strength gone? Sapped away in the struggle to survive? How may I refresh myself? Will God take away my sorrows and give me hope and strength? Or am I destined to be in the wine press of the Lord trodden under his feet as he dispenses his wrath upon me.
A saint I am not and my sorrows hang over me Job-like in their intensity. The cross is salvation and damnation. Saved in his sacrifice and damned in the stink of my sins which His murder it is crowned with.
I murder Christ daily as I awake for the sins of my father are upon me unto the seventieth generation. I am afraid for they will kill me in my sin but the Lord has marked me and preserves me in my iniquity.
Take your hand up off me Lord, withhold the lash of your rod. I am not worthy of your mercy but yet, I still beg of you to dispense it upon me.