Affliction, by George Herbert

Lent, Day 12

Broken in pieces all asunder,
Lord, hunt me not,
A thing forgot,
Once a poor creature, now a wonder,
A wonder tortured in the space
Betwixt this world and that of grace.

My thoughts are all a case of knives,
Wounding my heart
With scatter'd smart;
As watering-pots give flowers their lives.
Nothing their fury can control,
While they do wound and prick my soul.

All my attendants are at strife,
Quitting their place
Unto my face:
Nothing performs the task of life:
The elements are let loose to fight,
And while I live, try out their right.

Oh, help, my God! let not their plot
Kill them and me,
And also thee,
Who art my life: dissolve the knot,
As the sun scatters by his light
All the rebellions of the night.

Then shall those powers, which work for grief,
Enter thy pay,
And day by day
Labour thy praise and my relief;
With care and courage building me,
Till I reach heaven, and much more, thee.

Basically, a 17th c description of depression ("wonder" then meant something monstrous), and I can certainly identify with a lot of it - "nothing performs the task of life" - you feel too exhausted by grief or whatever to even get on with normal living.

The view from my son's student bedroom in Leeds, as the sun scattered by his light all the negative feelings of the darkness.

This day has been so full, but a bath is waiting for me. Sleep well, if anyone reads this tonight!