Because, dear Christ, your ender, wounded arm
Bends back the briar that edges lifes's long way,
That no hurt comes to heart, to soul no harm,
I do not feel the thorns so much to-day.
Because I never knew your care to tire,
Your hand to weary guiding me aright,
Because you walk before and crush the brier,
It does not pierce my feet so much to-night.
Because so often you have hearkened to
My selfish prayeres, I ask but one thing now,
That these harsh hands of mine add not unto
The crown of thorns upon your bleeding brow.
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