The limbs that bleed, O stubborn heart, for us!
Still are the lids so softly tremulous,
And mute the mouth of our eternal need.
Though this thy fearful lips would now deny,
Love is divine, and cannot wholly die:
Draw forth the nails thy tender hands have driven—
And we will know the mercy infinite,
Will find redemption in our own delight,
And in each other’s heart the only heaven.