To feel the lash-cuts on my naked spine,
The dirty spikes that grate on human bone:
To suffer for the sins that are my own—
Sweet Christ, I wish so bless'd a fate were mine!
My penance is to let You bear the price,
To know I shoved the spear into Your side,
And my worst self was laughing when You died
Because I had escaped the sacrifice.
Your mercy has more justice than we think;
My ruined soul Your grace can surely raise,
But from Your grace and mercy still I shrink—
For when I meet You at the end of days,
Who drank the cup that was my own to drink,
How will I ever meet Your bloody gaze?
