When I was on Tour with a play that shall remain un-named (oh, the shame), we as a cast did a fireside. During it, a dear friend (who I just love to death) sang a song that apparently her mother used to sing to her. It was beautiful and Celtic and accapella. I have never heard the same arrangement since, and can't get a hold of her to have her record it . . . but the words also made a fantastic impact on me. So, here they are:
Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace;
where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood, as to understand;
to be loved, as to love;
for it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
Little did I know this was the prayer of St. Francis. Well, it still has merit. And I like it. So there.