Peter, outworn,
And menaced by the sword,
Shook off the dust of Rome;
And, as he fled,
Met one, with eager face,
Hastening cityward,
And, to his vast amaze,
It was The Lord.
"Lord, whither goest Thou?"
He cried, importunate,
And Christ replied,—
"Peter, I suffer loss.
I go to take thy place,
To bear thy cross."

Then Peter bowed his head,
Discomforted;
There, at the Master's feet,
Found grace complete,
And courage, and new faith,
And turned—with Him,
To Death.

So we,—
Whene'er we fail
Of our full duty,
Cast on Him our load,—
Who suffered sore for us,
Who frail flesh wore for us,
Who all things bore for us,—
On Christ, The Lord.