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Like a littly flower growing in solitude

My life is observed by God alone.

He is feeding me with virtues in plenitude,

Though sin to itself still makes me prone.

Like a little fish is caught in the tentacles

My life to a monster had fallen prey.

Sickness holds me down with aguelike manacles;

Both molds me and breaks me like earthly clay.

Shaken, stricken, pressed by constant vicissitude

I'm hunted and scared as a littly doe.

Humbled, battered, now I learn of the magnitude,

Of th'aweful, imposing, threat'ning foe.

People only see my sins in their nudity.

They're quick to point out what I've done wrong.

There's no faintest feeling for the profundity

How God is at work, so hard, so long.

Now my heart is overflowing with gratitude.

For pressure produces butter from the milk.

Who but fools would doubt God's heavenly rectitude

In turning a worm like me to silk.

Chris Bouter

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