For I have been with thee, dear Lord, apart,
And seen love’s barbed and o’ermastering dart
Pierce thee beneath the olives dark and old,
Until thy anguish could not be controlled,
But from thy veins the Blood of life did start.
O Word made flesh, made sin, for sinful man!
I seek not now thy smile, so fair, so sweet;
Another vision, haggard, pale, and wan,
Of one who bore earth’s sin and shame and smart,
Hath drawn me, weeping, to thy sacred feet,