Here in my side. It leaps in bounds of pain,
Like torments of the lowest depths of hell,--
Through this deep wound. Like His own wound it is,
Thrust through with bitter stroke of that same Spear,
And in the self-same place from which His tears
Of burning blood wept over man's disgrace
In holiest pity and divinest love;
And now from me, the highest office holding
And charged with holiest trust of God's good grace,--
From me the hot, impassioned blood is surging,
Renewed again by that first awful sin.
Alas, no deep repentance e'er can save
A sinner dyed in sins so scarlet red.
Naught can avail, but only one sure thing,
The healing touch of that thrice-sacred Spear,
Held in the pure hand of the guileless One.
Have mercy, O have mercy, pitying God!
Take back my birthright in the sacred trust!
Take back my life and all I hold most dear!
But give me healing, and Thy tender love,--
And let me die, and come to Thee pure-hearted!"

And as he ended in an anguished sob,
The boys' sweet voices chanted from the dome:
_"By pity 'lightened,
My guileless One,--
Wait for him,
Till My will is done!"_

Then softly all the knights cried: "'Tis God's will