Am I a stone, and not a sheep
That I can stand, O Christ, beneath Thy cross,
To number, drop by drop, Thy blood’s slow loss,
And yet not weep?
Not so, those women loved
Who with exceeding grief lamented Thee;
Not so fallen Peter weeping bitterly;
Not so the thief was moved;
Not so the sun and moon
Which hid their faces in a starless sky
A horror of great darkness at broad noon –
I, only I.
Yet, give not o’er
but seek Thy sheep, true Shepherd of the flock;
greater than Moses, turn and look once more
and smite a rock.