Classic Poem

I followed Thee, my God, I followed Thee
To see the end:
I turned back flying from Gethsemane,
Turned back on flying steps to see
Thy Face, my God, my Friend.

Even fleeing from Thee my heart clave to Thee:
I turned perforce
Constrained, yea chained by love which maketh free;
I turned perforce, and silently
Followed along Thy course.

Lord, didst Thou know that I was following Thee?
I weak and small
Yet Thy true lover, mean tho' I must be,
Sinning and sorrowing — didst Thou see?
O Lord, Thou sawest all.

I thought I had been strong to die for Thee;
I disbelieved
Thy word of warning spoken patiently:
My heart cried, " That be far from me, "
Till Thy bruised heart I grieved.

Once I had urged: " Lord, this be far from Thee: " —
Rebel to light,
It needed first that Thou shouldst die for me
Or ever I could plumb and see
Love's lovely depth and height.

Alas that I should trust myself, not Thee;
Not trust Thy word:
I faithless slumberer in Gethsemane,
Blinded and rash; who instantly
Put trust, but in a sword.

Ah Lord, if even at the last in Thee
I had put faith,
I might even at the last have counselled me,
And not have heaped up cruelty
To sting Thee in Thy death.

Alas for me, who bore to think on Thee
And yet to lie:
While Thou, O Lord, didst bear to look on me
Goaded by fear to blasphemy,
And break my heart and die.

No balm I find in Gilead, yet in Thee
Nailed to Thy palm
I find a balm that wrings and comforts me:
Balm wrung from Thee by agony,
My balm, mine only balm.

Oh blessed John who standeth close to Thee,
With Magdalene,
And Thine own Mother praying silently,
Yea, blessed above women she,
Now blessed even as then.

And blessed the scorned thief who hangs by Thee,
Whose thirsting mouth
Thirsts for Thee more than water, whose eyes see,
Whose lips confess in ecstasy
Nor feel their parching drouth.

Like as the hart the water-brooks I Thee
Desire, my hands
I stretch to Thee; O kind Lord, pity me:
Lord, I have wept, wept bitterly,
I driest of dry lands.

Lord, I am standing far far off from Thee;
Yet is my heart
Hanging with Thee upon the accursed tree;
The nails, the thorns, pierce Thee and me:
My God, I claim my part

Scarce in Thy throne and kingdom; yet with Thee
In shame, in loss,
In Thy forsaking, in Thine agony:
Love crucified, behold even me,
Me also bear Thy cross.