A Poem from 1896 and 2006


My God! my God! and can it be

That I should sin so lightly now,

And think no more of evil thoughts

Than of the wind that waves the bough?

I sin, and heaven and earth go round

As if no dreadful deed were done;

As if Thy blood had never flowed

To hinder sin or to atone.

Shall it be always thus, O Lord?

Wilt Thou not work this hour in me

The grace Thy passion merited,

Hatred of self and love of Thee?

O, by the pains of Thy pure love,

Grant me the gift of holy fear;

And by Thy woes and bloody sweat,

O wash my guilty conscience clear.

Ever when tempted make me see,

Beneath the olives’ moon-pierced shade,

My God, alone, outstretched and bruised,

And bleeding on the earth He made.

And make me feel it was my sin,

As though no other sins there were,

That was to Him who bears the world

A load that He could scarcely bear.

[What joy, what JOY His Gift doth bring

to all who lay sword down

and allow the hammer of His Love

make ploughshare for His Crown.]

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