Ah, failure, my old friend.

How sweet to greet you yet again,

To feel once more your cold embrace

And gaze into your familiar face.

With smug contempt for all our past,

Each time we part I believe the last

And strive so hard to leave you behind,

But doggedly you stalk and find.

So, come, old friend, let us reason together.

Apply your manacle, make fast your fetter.

Your subject docile shall I be

And readily confess, for all may see

That within me dwells no good thing.

Rags of filth, the best I bring.

Earthen vessel, cracked and marred,

Feeble altogether and deeply scarred.

But there is One who does all things well.

My ultimate end He alone will tell.

Thus into His hands I cede my plight.

Washed in His blood, crimson becomes white.

So, come, old friend, do your worst.

And ‘Have at thee!’ If thou durst.

I will but patiently your pangs endure,

Knowing, to the last, my Hope is sure.

Though your icy touch does sear, and burn,

Through time and trial I have come to learn

And know at last your true effect:

My weakness does His strength perfect.