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Saturday, March 31, 2007

Seasons of the Soul: The Sacrifice (6) - Conclusion

Agony - Geoff Todd, Australia


Shame tears my soul, my body many a wound;
Sharp nails pierce this, but sharper that confound;
Reproaches, which are free, while I am bound.
Was ever grief like mine?

Now heal your self, Physician; now come down.
Alas! I did so, when I left my crown
And Father’s smile for you, to feel His frown:
Was ever grief like mine?

In healing not my self, there does consist
All that salvation, which you now resist;
Your safety in my sickness does subsist:
Was ever grief like mine?

Betwixt two thieves I spend my utmost breath,
As he that for some robbery suffereth.
Alas! what have I stolen from you? Death.
Was ever grief like mine?

A king my title is, prefixed on high;
Yet by my subjects am condemned to die
A servile death in servile company:
Was ever grief like mine?

They give me vinegar mingled with gall,
But more with malice: yet, when they did call,
With Manna, Angels’ food, I fed them all:
Was ever grief like mine?

They part my garments, and by lot dispose
My coat, the type of love, which once cured those
Who sought for help, never malicious foes:
Was ever grief like mine?

Nay, after death their spite shall further go;
For they will pierce my side, I full well know;
That as sin came, so Sacraments might flow:
Was ever grief like mine?

But now I die; now all is finishéd.
My woe, man’s weal: and now I bow my head.
Only let others say, when I am dead,
Never was grief like mine.

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