3.
“There is no whole part in My body. I am feeble and sore smitten.”
The scene of blood comes thickening on that morn,
And now of the loud scourge I hear the sound
Redoubled, and I see the reddening wound,—
Wound upon wound,—His tender back is torn,
Flower of all human flesh—the Sinless born;
The Lily of the Vales that loved the ground,
Shrinking from view profane, and spotless found;
Now lifted like the rose upon the thorn,
Which hangs its head beneath the stormy shower;
And ere it sheds in death its dripping leaves,
One purple petal, as it earthward grieves,
Falls wet with dew from the o'erloaded flower:
So from Thy Body, mingling with Thy tears,
Drops Thy life's-blood, and on the stone appears.
