Contrition

O Lord of Hosts, God of Glory, King of of ages, I am unworthy. A dog. A worm in the presence of your holiness. I am eaten with the maggots of wickedness and ready to be tossed into the trash heap of Gehenna. But you O Lord God of Abraham, keep me. You, O Righteous One, have made me righteous. You have set me upon solid ground, none can take me. But I stand still with a sense of unrighteousness. Not of you or your work, but of my own. I don't deserve even a drop of your grace and mercy. Yet you have given it, you have. Why? I cannot seem to rid myself of the stench of death! Surely no ritual or penance or alms-giving shall atone, but the blood which you poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins! Why do I still fight these things, so embedded in my soul? O that you would rip them out of me, so I can be holy! Nevertheless you have made me holy by the blood shed on the cross... still I have an unending desire to be free, and completely free at that. To stand against the dark recesses of the world, with effort to which none can avail. Gouge mine eyes so I do not lust. Break mine legs of laziness. Crush the head of pride, and break the mouth of impurity. Kill this nature of old and bring out the new nature of Christ. Forgive me, O King of whom feet I bow undeservedly. Forgive me.