On to the bank that recedes,
On through the shadows that mock,
Tearing my staff from the weeds,
Bruising my feet on the rock,
Caught by this Babe who appealed,
Calling to echoes astray;
Would that my heart I had steeled,
Left Him to listen till day!
Child, who dost crush me with weight,
Child of the pitiful eyes,
Whence didst Thou come to my gate?
How didst Thou fool me to rise
From my lone bed?

Sweeter than bells at the Mass,
Older and newer than time,
Charming the shadows to pass
Ringeth His voice in a chime.
Firm is the touch of His hands,
Soft as my mother’s caress,
Loosing my misery’s bands,
Calming the wrath I confess.
Child, who hast healed all my pain,
Joy of my soul, must we part
Just when the bank we shall gain?
Blest be these feet on my heart!
They too have bled.