God's Tarnished Knight
O Lord, Good Lord, I beg you turn your eye
And pour out yet again your Precious Blood
On me, your tarnished, fallen knight, for here I lie,
Wounded, trampled, crushed and smeared with mud,
But not, O Lord, Good Lord, a valiant hero, I.
These wounds I got, not in honorable brawl,
In noble triumph, nor in glorious defeat
But I quit my post, O Lord. I did not fall.
I stooped, laid down. I wasn’t on my feet
But on my back. I didn’t fight, I crawled.
And now I lie and grovel on the field
As if by further absence from my post
I might, somehow, pretend I didn’t yield.
I beg you, Lord, whom I have injured most
Forgive me, and restore to me my shield.
Without a word of blame you now renew
My strength, and raise me from the dirt
And every wound of mine appears on you.
You set me back at my post, as every hurt
I brought upon myself, I bring on you.
You lie down in my place upon the ground
And gaze at me, as a hundred demons lash
Your innocent flesh. They gibber as they pound
And kick you around the field like so much trash,
And all the while you love me without a sound.
How dare I ask forgiveness?! I have no right!
And yet how dare I not, since you command?
I may not shirk your mercy, nor the fight,
In vain humility. So here I stand,
No hero, Lord, but just your tarnished knight.