from "Song of the Inexhaustible Sun"

by Karol Wojtyla

Forgive my thought, Lord, for not loving enough.
My love is so mind-manacled, forgive that, Lord;
it subtracts You from thought, leaving it cool as a stream,
where you want an embrace of fire.

But accept, Lord, the wonder that leaps from my heart --
as a brook leaps up from its source --
a sign that heat may yet burn.
So, Lord, do not spurn
even that cool wonderment.
One day You will nourish it with a burning stone:
a flame in my mouth.

Oh, do not spurn this wonder of mine, Lord,
which to You is nothing; You are Entire
in Yourself,
but for me now this is all,
a stream that tears at the shore
in muted motion,
before it can declare its yearning
to the measureless oceans.

* * *

I wish I could explain this poem. It seems to me that the Holy Father is humbler than he has to be. If his love wasn't enough, what is mine? Nothing. But this prayer could work for me: my love is cool where it should be hot. There's only a little something there, not enough.

This shows us a side of him we didn't see much. We saw what he did, but this gives us a little glimpse, I think, into his heart. Deep down, he practised more than he preached--he prayed more even than he acted.

Eternal rest grant unto him, Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him. Amen.