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33
THE FIVE SACRED WOUNDS
Have compassion on me!
I thought to worship Thy Wounds in Trinity,
The Wounds of Thy Hands, Thy Side, Thy Feet;
I had no patience, no Caritas. ...
Through Thy right Hand the nail doth pass!
As a sheep standeth by
His fellow, waiting for his turn to die,
The left hand droopeth free—
That is the Hand that feels the nail.
God, for my hardness pity me!
I thought to worship Thy Wounds in Trinity,
The Wounds of Thy Hands, Thy Side, Thy Feet;
I had no patience, no Caritas. ...
Through Thy right Hand the nail doth pass!
As a sheep standeth by
His fellow, waiting for his turn to die,
The left hand droopeth free—
That is the Hand that feels the nail.
God, for my hardness pity me!
O Venerable Hands, O our delight!
We need them both: one bindeth tight
The Cup, one breaketh for all the Bread.
How pliantly they work; they wave from side to side,
As weeds that wash in a low pool-tide,
In every motion to fulfil
A motion of the Father's will!
We need them both. O lovely in our sight,
O Amor meus, to be crucified!
O Hands, clear as a woman's in their light!
We need them both: one bindeth tight
The Cup, one breaketh for all the Bread.
How pliantly they work; they wave from side to side,
As weeds that wash in a low pool-tide,
In every motion to fulfil
A motion of the Father's will!
We need them both. O lovely in our sight,
O Amor meus, to be crucified!
O Hands, clear as a woman's in their light!
Have compassion! Side by side
They place Thy Feet, and through each they gride;
One breaketh before the other, yea,
There is a blow, and then silence, and then ...
I will have patience, wait for the blow again.
When Mary wrapt those Feet with her hair
She was glad the two were there:
One with her hair she dried;
One she fondled up against her cheek—
God, for my lack of loving chide!
They place Thy Feet, and through each they gride;
One breaketh before the other, yea,
There is a blow, and then silence, and then ...
I will have patience, wait for the blow again.
34
She was glad the two were there:
One with her hair she dried;
One she fondled up against her cheek—
God, for my lack of loving chide!
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