Lo, there He hangs -
Ashened figure pinioned against the wood.
God grant that I might love Him
Even as I should.
I draw a little closer
To feel His love divine,
And Hear Him gently whisper,
“Ah, foolish child of mine -
If now I should embrace you,
My hands would stain you red,
And if I leaned to whisper,
My thorns would pierce your head.”
‘Twas there I learned in meekness
That love demands a price;
‘Twas then I learned that suffering
is but the kiss of Christ.
~A Trappist Monk
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