Into the woods, my Master went,
Clean forspent, forspent,
Into the woods my Master came,
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Into the woods, my Master went,
Clean forspent, forspent,
Into the woods my Master came,
Forspent with love and shame.
But the olives they were not blind to Him,
The little gray leaves were kind to Him:
The thorn-tree had a mind to Him,
When into the woods He came.

All His glory and beauty come from within, and there He delights
to dwell, His visits there are frequent, read more

All His glory and beauty come from within, and there He delights
to dwell, His visits there are frequent, His conversation sweet,
His comforts refreshing; and His peace passing all understanding.

But chiefly Thou,
Whom soft-eyed Pity once led down from Heaven
To bleed for man, to teach read more

But chiefly Thou,
Whom soft-eyed Pity once led down from Heaven
To bleed for man, to teach him how to live,
And, oh! still harder lesson! how to die.

Thou hast conquered, O pale Galilean;
The world has grown gray from thy breath;
We have drunken read more

Thou hast conquered, O pale Galilean;
The world has grown gray from thy breath;
We have drunken from things Lethean,
And fed on the fullness of death.

Therefore, friends,
As far as to the sepulchre of Christ--
Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross
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Therefore, friends,
As far as to the sepulchre of Christ--
Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross
We are impressed and engaged to fight--
Fourthwith a power of English shall we levy,
Whose arms were moulded in their mother's womb
To chase these pagans in those holy fields
Over whose acres walked those blessed feet
Which fourteen hundred years ago were nailed
For our advantage on the bitter cross.

Fra Lippo, we have learned from thee
A lesson of humanity:
To every mother's heart forlorn,
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Fra Lippo, we have learned from thee
A lesson of humanity:
To every mother's heart forlorn,
In every house the Christ is born.

A pagan heart, a Christian soul had he.
He followed Christ, yet for dead Pan he sighed,
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A pagan heart, a Christian soul had he.
He followed Christ, yet for dead Pan he sighed,
As if Theocritus in Sicily
Had come upon the Figure crucified,
And lost his gods in deep, Christ-given rest.

And on his brest a bloodie crosse he bore,
The deare remembrance of his dying Lord,
For read more

And on his brest a bloodie crosse he bore,
The deare remembrance of his dying Lord,
For whose sweete sake that glorious badge he wore.

Every pang that rends the heart.

Every pang that rends the heart.