I recently read this play by T.S. Eliot. I just found out while doing an image search for this post that it was one of the works that won him a Nobel prize for literature. That isn't surprising, since it is an excellent play, and a beautiful piece of poetry, at that.
Here's the part that I've been mulling over for a while now. It's from the conclusion, and appropriate for the season of Lent.
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Forgive us, O Lord, we acknowledge ourselves as a type of the common man.
Of the men and women who shut the door and sit by the fire;
Who fear the blessing of God, the loneliness of the night of God, the surrender required, the deprivation inflicted;
Who fear the injustice of men less than the justice of God;
Who fear the hand at the window, the fire in the thatch, the fist in the tavern, the push into the canal,
Less than we fear the love of God.
