Classic Poem

Long time hath Christ, long time I must confess,
Held me a hollow reed within his hand,
That merited in hell to make a brand,
Had not his grace supplied mine emptiness.
Oft time with languor and newfangleness,
Had I been borne away like sifted sand,
When sin and Satan got the upper hand,
But that his steadfast mercy did me bless.
Still let me grow upon that living land,
Within that wound which iron did impress,
And made a spring of blood flow from thy hand.
Then will I gather sap and rise and stand,
That all that see this wonder may express,
Upon this ground how well grows barrenness.