  SHAKEN by winds to sigh, to song, One reed amid the misty throng That to a reed-bed, Christ, belong— One reed among Those who are reeds to every wind, Now in Thy Presence, now declined: Cut me away from dim caprice, And sheer me from the reedy fleece! Let my poor, shivering motion cease, Dead of Thy peace: A reed and no more shaken—yea, No more a slant sedge-reed I pray! No more! But, Mercy infinite, Let me not be a reed to smite The thorns within Thy forehead tight, And urge to sight Thy sacred Blood and urge Thy pain! Better the devious winds again! Upon Thy lips let me but lay Such sour, dun vintage as I may; Push not the sponge-tipped spear away, But let it stay! Oh, let the bitter draught through me Bring to Thy Cross some lenity! |
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