Be Husband, Brother, closest Friend to me;
Love me as very mother loves her son,
  Her sucking firstborn fondled on her knee:  30
Yea, more than mother loves her little one;
  For, earthly, even a mother may forget
And feel no pity for its piteous moan;
  But thou, O Love of God, remember yet,
Through the dry desert, through the waterflood
  (Life, death) until the Great White Throne is set. 
If now I am sick in chewing the bitter cud
  Of sweet past sin, though solaced by Thy grace
And ofttimes strengthened by Thy Flesh and Blood,
  How shall I then stand up before Thy face 40
When from Thine eyes repentance shall be hid
  And utmost Justice stand in Mercy’s place: 
When every sin I thought or spoke or did
  Shall meet me at the inexorable bar,
And there be no man standing in the mid
  To plead for me; while star fallen after star
With heaven and earth are like a ripened shock,
  And all time’s mighty works and wonders are
Consumed as in a moment; when no rock
  Remains to fall on me, no tree to hide, 50
But I stand all creation’s gazing-stock
  Exposed and comfortless on every side,
Placed trembling in the final balances
  Whose poise this hour, this moment, must be tried?—­
Ah Love of God, if greater love than this
  Hath no man, that a man die for his friend,
And if such love of love Thine Own Love is,
  Plead with Thyself, with me, before the end;
Redeem me from the irrevocable past;
  Pitch Thou Thy Presence round me to defend; 60
Yea seek with pierced feet, yea hold me fast
  With pierced hands whose wounds were made by love;
Not what I am, remember what Thou wast
  When darkness hid from Thee Thy heavens above,
And sin Thy Father’s Face, while thou didst drink
  The bitter cup of death, didst taste thereof
For every man; while Thou wast nigh to sink
  Beneath the intense intolerable rod,
Grown sick of love; not what I am, but think
  Thy Life then ransomed mine, my God, my God. 70

GOOD FRIDAY

Am I a stone and not a sheep
  That I can stand, O Christ, beneath Thy Cross,
  To number drop by drop Thy Blood’s slow loss,
And yet not weep?

Not so those women loved
  Who with exceeding grief lamented Thee;
  Not so fallen Peter weeping bitterly;
Not so the thief was moved;

Not so the Sun and Moon
  Which hid their faces in a starless sky, 10
  A horror of great darkness at broad noon—­
I, only I.

Yet give not o’er,
  But seek Thy sheep, true Shepherd of the flock;
  Greater than Moses, turn and look once more
And smite a rock.

THE LOWEST PLACE