That head, which angels with ceaseless praise adorn,Is pierced with crowded thorns. That face, which our God with grace and beauty lit, Is marred by sinners’ spit. Those eyes, outshining the sun’s most piercing light, Are dull as sable night. Those ears, accustomed to praise from heaven’s host, Must hear his haters boast. That mouth, whose wisdom the wisest could enthrall, Tastes vinegar and gall. Those feet, whose footstool is this terrestrial sphere, To bloody wood adhere. Those hands, which stretched out the heavens like a tent, By spikes in twain are rent. That tongue, uninjured, shall cry from that cursed tree, A prayer of love for me.
Based on “An Exercise of Repentance from our Lord’s Passion” in the Sacred Meditations of Johann Gerhard.
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