The hope and charity may go
A moment but the faith that’s you,
You I can’t feel and never see,
Yet feed on my identity.
O Christ, can it ever be just
To make a burden out of trust?
Love does. I mean our human love
And you are man but spoken of
As God. To make life simplified
You were a little child who died.
O take my unlove and despair
And what they lack let faith repair.
Elizabeth Jennings, Collected Poems (Manchester/New York: Carcanet Press, 1986), p. 160.