The Love Of Christ Which Passeth Knowledge

I bore with thee long weary days and nights,         Through many pangs of heart, through many tears;     I bore with thee, thy hardness, coldness, slights,         For three and thirty years.     Who else had dared for thee what I have dared?         I plunged the depth most deep from bliss above;     I not My flesh, I not My spirit spared:         Give thou Me love for love.     For thee I thirsted in the daily drouth,         For thee I trembled in the nightly frost:     Much sweeter thou than honey to My mouth:         Why wilt thou still be lost?     I bore thee on My shoulders and rejoiced:         Men only marked upon My shoulders borne     The branding cross; and shouted hungry-voiced,         Or wagged their heads in scorn.     Thee did nails grave upon My hands, thy name         Did thorns for frontlets stamp between Mine eyes:     I, Holy One, put on thy guilt and shame;         I, God, Priest, Sacrifice.     A thief upon My right hand and My left;         Six hours alone, athirst, in misery:     At length in death one smote My heart and cleft         A hiding-place for thee.     Nailed to the racking cross, than bed of down         More dear, whereon to stretch Myself and sleep:     So did I win a kingdom, - share my crown;         A harvest, - come and reap.