The Weight and the Sufficiency (For Henry Martyn, Translator and Martyr)

Lord, shew me myself; nothing but “wounds and bruises, and putrifying sores,” and teach me to live by faith on Christ my all.
(From the journals of Henry Martyn, January 1803)

He gave himself –
That mass of sores
And deadweight heavy on his heart;
He dragged this weary weight around,
And, manacled, could sometimes not
Lift his hands or turn his heart;
And sometimes looked on brighter days
As if they were a foreign land;

He gave himself –
Though sometimes his
Mind was too disturbed within,
Stuck inside its own labyrinths
And winding, dusty corridors,
The knowledge of his dirt and sin,
And sometimes felt the word of life
As an arrow in his pride –

He gave himself
To other lands,
Learnt other scripts and other tongues
And gave them words and ways to read
The words of life; he let them see,
With words that were far beyond him –
Not of his tongue, nor from his mouth;
He gave them much more than himself.

He gave himself,
In all his shame,
And God made him burn brighter than
Those braver or those stronger flames,
The haughty or the proud who in
Their own assurance made no room
For the brightest, strongest flame
Which burned when he could no more give.

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