The Prisoner of Love :: :: University of Virginia Library

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”—Ps. xxiii. 4.

Christ wrought the fulness
Of free Redemption, that doth nothing lack;
But we, His Body, treading in His track,
Shall bear the same blest nail and precious thorn,
The cloud's dread dulness,
And through His Grave be every hour reborn.
For that grand Passion
Yet in His Church goes on, and cannot fail
By one least thorn-prick or red print of nail,
And each true heart must be an altar sweet,
Though frail of fashion,
And each true mouth may kiss His wounded Feet.

Ours be the filling
Up of our Lord's afflictions with each breath,
Right to the brim of being and to death
In suffering service He doth daily need,
Though tears be spilling,
Or life and blood that are the Church's seed.
The sickness, sorrow,
Borne humbly and in patience as His rod
Will complement the very work of God,
And brings gold grain and purges earth from chaff;
Till, some bright morrow,
We find His chastening rod was but our staff.