There He hangs — pale figure pinned against the wood.
God grant that I could love Him as I really know I should.
I draw a little closer to share that love Divine
And almost hear Him whisper, “Ah foolish child of Mine!
If I should now embrace you,
My hands would stain you red.
And if I leaned to whisper,
The thorns would pierce your head.”
And then I knew in silence that love demands a price
‘Twas then I learned that suffering is but the kiss of Christ.