April 27
FALSE FRIENDSHIP
“Yea, mine own familiar friend, in whom I trusted, which did
eat of my bread, hath lifted up his heel against me.”—
Ps. xli. 9.
If it were possible, that ought
Could truly to My Love be done,
By men for whom I never wrought
Redemption—if there could be one;
The sorrow were not such to bear,
As this great grief I always wear.
Could strangers wreak Me wrong or slight
And stab with bitter wounds of pain,
The shame, the burden were but light
And all their injuries would be vain;
But thou didst in My Grandeur play,
From childhood—and dost thou betray?
Mine own familiar friend, so sealed
At birth and with My very Cross,
To whom I day by day revealed
The bliss and beauty, wrought from dross;
This is the cruel sting, that thou
My chosen dost deny me now.
If it were possible that I
Could value any sinner less
Than worlds, and not enough to die—
His wounds might hardly need redress;
But thou, of Me a living part,
O would'st thou break this bleeding Heart?
