Thy clear air

Lilias Trotter, Wings of the Morning (2 May, 1914).

The pen on the desk is kept clean and filled with ink. The pencil is kept pointed. Both are ready, both are at hand; sometime one is used, sometimes the other; if only the work be done, what does it matter which does it? There can be a subtle selfishness, a kind of covetousness which is idolatry (of self) in the perpetual cry, Use me.

But there is nothing of that in the prayer, Cleanse me, O Lord, and keep me clean; make me sensitive to the approach of sin. Make me quick to hear Thy question, "Whom shall I send?" and quick to answer, "Here am I," quick also to be glad if another be preferred before me. Nor is there anything selfish in such a prayer as this,

Love through me, Love of God,
Make me like Thy clear air
That Thou dost pour Thy colours through,
As though it were not there.

Amy Carmichael, Gold by Moonlight (1935).