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.]