Lord, make me an instrument of Your 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.
Phaedrus: But let us go, now that it has become less oppressively hot. Socrates: Shouldn’t we first offer a prayer? Phaedrus: Of course. Socrates:
Dear Pan, and all you other gods who live here, grant that I may become
beautiful within, and that whatever outward things I have may be in
harmony with the spirit inside me. May I understand that it is only the
wise who are rich, and may I have only as much money as a temperate
person needs. – Is there anything else that we can ask for, Phaedrus?
For me, that prayer is enough. Phaedrus: Make it a prayer for me too, since friends have all things in common. Socrates: Let’s be going.