O Love divine! was’t not enough to hold
Thine own so dear thou lovedst to the end,
Deep-wounded hands on Calvary to extend,
Seeking poor earth in Love’s wide arms to fold,
But still thou giv’st thyself, Love’s sacrament,
As with thy love and sorrow uncontent?
GOOD FRIDAY.
Dear Mother, unto thee I come to-day,
Because I dare not look upon the face
Of Him in whose least wound my sins I trace: