There He hangs—pale figure
pinned against the wood.
God grant that I could love Him
as I really know I should.
I draw a little closer
to share that Love divine
and almost hear Him whisper
“Ah, foolish child of Mine!
If I should now embrace you,
My hands would stain you red.
And if I leaned to whisper,
the Thorns would pierce your head."
Then I knew in silence
that love demands a price
‘Twas then I learned that suffering
is but the Kiss of Christ.
(“Poem to Christ Crucified” by Caryll Houselander)
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