Thy lance transfix my heart, thorns crown my head—
Pain, torture to the end;
And while death’s angel seals my glazing eye,
Heart, soul shall yearn to suffer or to die!”
Great soul! be comforted: thy prayer is heard
More huge and terrible than human word
May utter, mortal heart conceive, the throng
Of woes that haste from Calvary to greet
Thy every step. Like Jesus, hate and wrong
Shall make of thee their jest; as purest wheat