The Agony

The Agony

My Love, my sins so grieve thy flesh

and sore the sounding of my name.

Reclined there 'mongst the olive branches,

thy purest soul convulsed in pain.

Tattooed upon your fleshly pall,

the bloodish tears; ill gotten gains.

Torn from my soul's dark basement places,

a litany of my life's shames.

From down the ages you turn the pages

of this life you've loaned,

leaving nothing undisturbed,

you search with golden comb.

My sins, so rooted, rudely press

upon thy Holy gentleness

and prick thy fingers with their thorns

and maximize thy soul's distress.

My Love, how my sins grieve thee.

Thank you for your blest distress.

Your kingdom comes through this great mystery,

your pain, my hope for happiness.