Classic Poem

Since for Thy lips were mingled, O my Lord,
The vinegar and gall,
Should I not say, Earth's sweet things be abhorred,
And sweet Earth's bitter call?

Since Thou for me the cup of death didst drain,—
Yea, O my Lord, for me,—
My cup of ills should I not take, as fain
To share one draught with Thee?

O Victor-Victim, though the flesh afraid
Sink trembling at Thy feet,
Cast over it Thy pity's awful shade,
And hear me Thee entreat!

Make Thou these tears of penitence and shame
For sin and frailties all,
More sharp than vinegar, more hot than flame,
And bitterer than gall.

Then, Lord, in every draught Thou wilt distil
Thine own exceeding peace
To sweeten all the cup earth's sorrows fill
Till earth and sorrow cease.