O perfect God, thy love
As perfect Man did share
Here upon earth each form of ill
Thy fellow-men must bear.

Now from the Tree of scorn
We hear thy voice again;
Thou who didst take our mortal flesh
Hast felt our mortal pain.

Thy body suffers thirst,
Parched are thy lips and dry:
How poor the offering man can bring
Thy thirst to satisfy!

O Saviour, by thy thirst
Borne on the Cross of shame,
Grant us in all our sufferings here
To glorify thy name;

That through each pain and grief
Our souls may onward move
To gain more likeness to thy life,
More knowledge of thy love.


Ada R. Greenaway