Longinus, striking God, was trebly blind;
Blind in his body, as is plain to trace;
Blind in his soul, and of a wrathful race;
And blind by anger in his furious mind.

Come to the cross, uneasy and unkind,
Even to work an act so strange and base;
Which, though it cost a price of such disgrace,
Gave life to him, repose and calm to find.

The iron of the javelin he held
Serving for striking-steel, and Christ the stone,
The rood the tinder for the spark that flies,

He struck the flint, impelled by rage unquelled;
And drew the fire of love. From Mercy's throne
Gushed wine, to be the wonder of his eyes.