Smoke by George MacDonald
Lord, I have laid my heart upon thy altar
But cannot get the wood to burn;
It hardly flares ere it begins to falter
And to the dark return.
Old sap, or night-fallen dew, makes damp the fuel;
In vain my breath would flame provoke;
Yet see - at every poor attempt's renewal
To thee ascends the smoke.
'Tis all I have - smoke, failure, foiled endeavour,
Coldness and doubt and palsied lack:
Such as I have I send thee! - perfect Giver,
Send thou thy lightning back.
"Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest upon me." (2 Corinthians 12:9)
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