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Sunday, 30 April 2017

Vanished Time

Was not there something in the vanished time that was called the Lord's Prayer, beginning, Our Father, a well of blessing to those who opened their hearts to it? Surely I seem to remember, but vainly I try to call back the words; they seem to hover about me as though I need but say Our Father, and all the rest must follow. I try and say so, but never get beyond; I have sometimes repeated these two words ten, twenty times, but it is quite hopeless—they are empty and meaningless; I have lost the prayer—it is all nothing to me. I just remember that there is a Father, but He is not my Father, and I am not His child. Yet I cannot refrain from racking my spirit for the once blessed words; surely they are somewhere—somewhere! My soul is thirsting, and there is not a drop of water to cool my tongue.

Letters from Hell, L. W. J. S., Richard Bentley & Son, London, 1889