with grief and shame bowed down,
How scornfully surrounded
with thorns, Thine only crown!
How pale Thou art with anguish,
with sore abuse and scorn!
How does that visage languish
which once was bright as morn!
Thy grief and bitter passion
were all for sinners' gain;
Mine, mine was the transgression,
but Thine the deadly pain:
Lo! here I fall my Saviour;
'Tis I deserve Thy place;
Look on me with Thy favour,
Vouchsafe to me Thy grace.
What language shall I borrow
to thank Thee dearest Friend,
For this Thy dying sorrow,
Thy pity without end?
O make me Thine for ever;
And should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never
outlive my love to Thee!
from SALVE CAPUT CRUENTATUM
attributed to Bernard of Clairvaux, 1091 -1153
Beautiful
ReplyDeleteKelley Creecy