Grace, Lord, for I faint along the way,
Pour past these lips, and I pray this draft may
Stand in good stead for innocence.
White of unblemished ice, white lilies, whence
The votives of a thousand virgins gleam,
Not mine: mine the scar's white seam.
You promised it! White of Your scars, and red,
Red for the blood, white for the pain, You said:
Marks I inflict, You swore to hold them high;
And on each church's gallows where You die,
There is Your glory, there my glory too:
To know just what I am: how base: how prized by You.
Fountains of water fall, fresh living blood
From every scar. Slake sin's void in their flood.