Lo! there He hangs
Ashened figure pinioned against the wood.
God grant that I might love Him
Even as I should.
I draw a little closer
To share this Love Divine
And hear Him softly murmur:
“Ah, foolish child of mine.
If now I would embrace you
My hands would stain thee red
And if I leaned to whisper
The thorns would pierce your head.”
‘Twas then I learned in meekness
That love demands a price.
‘Twas then I knew that sorrow
Is but the kiss of Christ.
--Anonymous
