Flame

For who can bear consuming fire,
or who can stand the lasting flame?
I prayed you would my heart inspire,
but cringed away each time you came.
Your light, O God, is my desire, 
but light and heat are one and same.

You ask of me no holocaust,
and to your mercy I would turn,
would count the wicked world well lost
if it were all your flame would burn.
You ask my heart, unfit and drossed;
this gift alone you will not spurn.

To burn away impurities,
burn off the chaff that you would sift:
What am I left with after these
are gone? No holy hands I lift.
Will you destroy the heart you seize
and burn to ashes this poor gift?

I pile up others in its place
and offer all else to your flare
to beg you for a colder grace.
I say my office, make my prayer,
and turn away, Lord, from your face,
hold back the heart that does not dare.

I know, O God, I am a fool
and burn already with the shame,
for, fadeless light, you are not cruel.
Your tongues of fire still call my name.
Burn gently as the years unspool,
‘til I become not fuel but flame.