of dust and clay and blood and bone

and silently I said unto Him:

my Jesus who loves me

like mad, like mad,

I beg Thee have pity on me

a sinner - a sinner!

dust and clay, mere dust and clay!

this frail, fragile, soon fading being

of blood and bone

cannot live, cannot survive,

without Thy blessed breath!

If Thou takest away Thy breath,

I soon fade away

and depart from this world.

only Thy hand sustains me,

maintains me in this blessed existence

without Thy hand holding me up,

I stumble and fall despite my desperate

tottering, doddering, confused baby steps,

and all I would know is despair, ignominy, and wretchedness

petering out miserably into oblivion,

for I would know not where to walk 

and why and how.

lead Thou me forward, past life, past death,

into Thy hands

hold me up, Lord,

with Thy hands,

if only so that I could feel 

Thy hand in mine,

For the remainder of this long, 

sometimes tedious, journey towards Thee,

hold me up

thus my imperfect, mortal prayer

of dust and clay and blood and bone.

and as an epilogue,

I whisper fiercely to the trees, to the stars, 

to the wind, to anyone who would listen:

I believe that Christ will take care of me