Ah, holy Jesus, how have you offended
That mortal judgement has on you descended?
By foes derided, by your own rejected,
O most afflicted!
Who was the guilty? Who brought this upon you?
It is my treason, Lord that has undone you.
'Twas I, Lord Jesus, I it was denied you;
I crucified you.
For me, kind Jesus, was your incarnation
Your mortal sorrow, and your life's oblation,
Your death of anguish and your bitter passion,
For my salvation.
Therefore, dear Jesus, since I cannot pay you,
I do adore you, and will ever pray you,
Think on your pity, and your love unswerving,
Not my deserving.
Welcome to the online picnic-spot for my sporadic writings and endless tea drinking.
In lieu of trying to belong to any number of societies: Chesterton, Sherlock Holmes, the Inklings, and so on: I propose and establish one of my own. Don your intelligence cap at the door; dust off your logic and imagination; did you bring your inspiration and encouragement? We are shapers, my friends; lit lamps; light-bringers. Bring quotes; poetry should be uplifting and thoughtful, or witty and clever, (or both). Humor is encouraged; laughter is invited back. Pull up a chair. Anyone for tea?
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1 comment:
The last stanza is amazing. It jumps out at me two different ways. The first being always praying He think on His pity and love for me, and not my merit. The second being that I pray to Him, and I think on His pity, His love, and not my own righteousness. Wow.
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