Ye Olde Utterance

 What extraordinary privilege it is, that one should glean utterances ancient from pages new! Yet from pages Yours I retreat – recognizing privilege yet possessing it not, even authority recognized yet fearing greater my own, whilst from pages my own I glean no reason nor rhyme, nor counsel nor comfort. And whilst remedy such deficit with mine quill I seek no longer, I undertake still such forgeries, to find only a remedy of whose depth is of paper itself.

 To mine eyes may my fingers delegate their energies, and to mine knees their task, for mine quill is as dry as its parchment. To ancient grace Yours I entreat – add to recognition possession, and bring forth such fear of You that of all else I would have as naught. With Your ink fill me, so that Your blood may wash all the more through my veins; my heart be all the more cleansed; and my mind all the more unclouded.