What love it was that Thou shouldst choose to feel
The chill of valleys where no dawns emerge
To break the mist, and streams repeat the dirge
For faith crushed like a pearl beneath man’s heel.

How just it was that Thou our Judge shouldst learn
The force of taunts that goad us into sin,
And slowly aureoled perfection win
Through blackened hopes, and through the stripes that burn.

Thou who didst steel thy will to impotence,
And wouldst not save Thyself, or take control
Of force, make us so dead that we may live.

Thou God of sorrows, wash our penitence,
Thou who wast naked, help each smitten soul,
Christ strong to suffer, stronger to forgive.