Sweet the fragrant smoke of prayer
cried from broken contrite hearts
Vanity washed and scrubbed away
and crushed upon the brutal shores
For all the ways of man are vain
self-hope becomes a loathing cry
and still most hope in their own strength
till stillborn hope does crush their heart
and all their ways of vanity die
but till that time their prayer is stench
upon the nostrils of our saddened God
But a smile and lighted swollen heart
for the sweet and fragrant smoke of prayer
cried from the broken contrite heart
laid prostrate before the God of all!
Advertisements
Prayer comes from brokenness, the understanding that we can’t “fix it.” It’s those fragrant tears, that fragrant smoke, that become our pryaers. Good poem, Mike.
Ummm, did you mean “prostrate” in the last line?
Yes, thanks!
A broken and contrite heart He will not despise. Wonderful. Thanks Mike.