somehow I know tonight that you work in me,
even as I moan, weary of my sin disease.
I hate my flesh that loves all that is in the world;
the twin lusts and the exalting pride destroy me.
though a child of my own Father, I feel a bastard
and see the sickening resemblance of heart and mind
to the dark master in my past. I am weakness.
am I an invalid in the house of my Father?
why is victory wrung, and defeat commonplace?