For me, my blessed Lord, to pity moved,
Looked down from heaven upon a soul He loved;
Yea, laid His glory by for love of me:
Believing, I accept the mystery.

His blessed head was crowned with crown of thorn
That mine might be refreshed when ofttimes worn;
And though the centuries have rolled between,
Eternity could ne'er efface that scene.

His pierced hands outstretched in love for me
Insure sweet rest for mine eternally;
And though so many years have passed away,
"Tis just as real as though it were yesterday.

His heart was pierced through with cruel spear
That mine might find its rest and lose its fear.
No past, no future, e'er that scene could set
So far from me that I could e'er forget.

His weary feet, once nailed to Calvary's tree,
Made possible the way to heaven for me;
And though the world hath drowned in revelry
His dying words, they still abide with me.

And He who died now lives in heaven for me.
His pleading day by day is constantly
My source of strength-He could not leave alone
The child for whom He suffered to atone.

The storm may break overhead, and sorrow crush
My heart; yea, and the silence of death's hush
May rend each tender tie all ruthlessly;
Yet, Lord, though all be gone, Thou art for me.

And soon I'll enter where Thy blessed face
Doth light all heaven with its glorious grace;
Yet even there Thou wilt eternally
(The ruler of all worlds) be still for me.

H. McD.