To ruffle round with sobs thy last word said,
And mark with tears the pulses ebb from thee,—
Then pray alone—‘O Christ, come tenderly!
By Thy forsaken Sonship in the red
Drear wine-press,—by the wilderness outspread,—
And the lone garden where Thine agony
Fell bloody from Thy brow,—by all of those
Permitted desolations, comfort mine!
No earthly friend being near me, interpose
No deathly angel ’twixt my face and Thine,