"From all my lame defeats and oh! much more
From all the victories I seemed to score;
From cleverness shot forth on Thy behalf
At which, while angels weep, the audience laugh;
From all my proofs of Thy divinity
Thou, who would give no sign, deliver me.
Thoughts are but coins. Let me not trust, instead
Of Thee, their thin-word image of Thy head.
From all my thoughts, even from thoughts of Thee,
O thou fair Silence, fall, and set me free.
Lord of the narrow gate and the needle's eye,
Take from me all my trumpery lest I die."