I would not have a god come in To shield me suddenly from sin, And set my house of life to rights;
Nor angels with bright burning wings Ordering my earthly thoughts and things;
Rather my own frail guttering lights Wind blown and nearly beaten out;
Rather the terror of the nights And long, sick groping after doubt;
Rather be lost than let my soul Slip vaguely from my own control-- Of my own spirit let me be In sole though feeble mastery.