Kneeling in fervent prayer; I heard with awe
Once more the shameful tale recounted o’er:
The buffets and revilings that He bore,
The crown of thorns, the wormwood, and the gall,
And our foul sins more bitter than them all,
Filling the cup that our vile hands have pressed
To the pure lips of our expiring Christ.
Gazing upon the Saviour’s agony,
Through my dark soul a cleansing current swept,
And tears of humble penitence I wept.