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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.
In every pang that rends the heart
The Man of Sorrows had a part.
In every pang that rends the heart
The Man of Sorrows had a part.
And Jesus saith unto him, The foxes have holes, and the birds of
the air have nests; but the read more
And Jesus saith unto him, The foxes have holes, and the birds of
the air have nests; but the Son of man hath not where to lay his
head.
The Pilot of the Galilean Lake.
The Pilot of the Galilean Lake.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.