THE WINDING-SHEET
“Tuum Sindonem veneremur, Domine.”
I
In this is our humanity complete
That Joseph coming down the street
Bought for the Lord a winding-sheet.
II
Yours is the corse—now Pilate understands—
O women! With fair linen in your hands,
Wrap tight, enwind the Body with strict bands!
III
Dearer these grave-clothes than the seamless coat
Woven of His Mother, than the crown, reedsmote;
Yea, for He learns our little part by rote.
IV
That cry from off the Cross was wide, was loud,
As he were parted from us. ... For His shroud
We famish! Women, as in fetters, shroud,
V
Bind Him our own, Jesus of Nazareth!
Sweet is your spice; but of more sumptuous breath
The redolence of that rich-blooded death.
VI
Tend Him as even now we tend the dead;
Let tears in volume on His corse be spread! ...
This Winding-sheet, the napkin at His head,
VII
Lift them, when round the open tomb we meet;
Bear them with pangs of laughter down the street;
Lay them down low, kissing His Mother's feet!
