Lord, you are right. And I am wrong. I may be guilty of a multitude of sins. Yet this sin I will not commit. I shall bow to your knowledge and understanding. You are right. And I am wrong.
You demand my perfection. I excuse my imperfection. I am content with imperfection. I seek its deceptive comfort. I let the rotten fruit lie beside the healthy. I let the lone pest stay in a cleanly swept house. Days pass and the healthy fruit reveals an inward rot. And the clean house emits a sickening stench. Can I pretend to be surprised?
I love the correct, at least I so opine. Yet I am drawn to the incorrect. I bed with the wrong. I am desperate to learn. Yet I am quick to fall into error. I love to construct. Yet I do not hesitate to destroy.
Cursed am I. To know and to not act, to receive and to not produce, to be blessed and to not bless – this is a curse.
Yet I walk despite the curse. I speak despite the curse. I hope despite the curse. I sin a multitude of sins. Yet this sin I will not sin. My Lord is right. And I am wrong.
- Samuel Godfrey George
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