Classic Poem

Holy Christ, upon thy cross of torture,
Deign to see the sinner at thy feet,
Ignorant, besotted,
Even in despair effete.

Holy Christ, thy sorry feet are swollen,
Heavy with the iron of their woe,
All inflamed, and clotted
With thy blood, which still doth flow.

Holy Christ, thy knees are cramped and palsied
For thy father's wrath upon our race
Bright with rubies dotted,
Fallen from thy blessed face.

Holy Christ, thy painful waist is girdled
Sinister, with blood from thy torn side.
'Tis the wage allotted
Of my sin, thou crucified.

Holy Christ, thy breast is wrung and anxious,
Stabbed with wounds unseen thy heart did quake,
Mighty heat which plotted
This atonement for my sake.

Holy Christ, thine arms outstretched are helpless;
See thy finger tips with anguish pearled;
Thus thy mercy wotted
Must thine arms embrace the world []

Holy Christ, thy face is marred and ugly
More than any man's, but kinder yet;
Furrowed, streaked and spotted,
Bleared with spittle, blood and sweat.

Holy Christ, the eyes of thy compassion
Turn to earth, ah well, ah, well, for me;
Be they not too blotted
My forlorn estate to see.

Holy Christ, thy head doth bear a garland,
Leafless vine, with fruit of many a thorn;
Oh so sharp and knotted,
Sharper symbol of my scorn.

Holy Christ, had not thy rood been bitter,
Racked and ruined hung thy holy frame,
Man had lain and rotted
In his slough of sin and shame.

Holy Christ, upon thy cross of pity,
Deign to see the Sinner at thy feet,
Ignorant, besotted…
Be thy work for me complete.