Little Gray Songs from St. Joseph's - Part 32
They who this age of Pain have trod,
Of him they strove with made their god;
But I who wrestle with him now
Contend but to uncrown his brow.
His brazen cup with wormwood stored,
I have drained deep, but ever poured
To Joy his sacred portion first:
'T was draught to him did quench my thirst.
Thy crown of thorns though I must share,
Jesu, it blossoms in my hair!
And they who look upon my face
See wreathéd roses in its place.
Of him they strove with made their god;
But I who wrestle with him now
Contend but to uncrown his brow.
His brazen cup with wormwood stored,
I have drained deep, but ever poured
To Joy his sacred portion first:
'T was draught to him did quench my thirst.
Thy crown of thorns though I must share,
Jesu, it blossoms in my hair!
And they who look upon my face
See wreathéd roses in its place.
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