The Apologist's Evening Prayer

From all my lame defeats and oh! much more,

From all the victories that 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 wouldst give no sign, deliver me.

Thoughts are but coins. Let me not trust, 

instead of Thee, their thin-worn image of Thy head.

From all my thoughts, even from my 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.

~ C. S. Lewis