Has earth's cursed ground e'er been so blest,
As where His feet did tread.
Or thorns held such majestic place
As those which crowned His head.
Was pain e'er born so lovingly
As that He bore for me
Or blood e'er shed so worthily
From flesh on barren tree
Did fire e'er burn so fiercefully
As that within His bones
Passion flamed so tearfully,
For those He longed to own.
Has light from moon or star e'er shone
As that shed from His soul
The all-embracing beams of truth
That yearned to make man whole.
Can heart e'er know such pow'r of love
As that which is Divine,
Poured forth from the Redeemer's breast,
So tenderly, so mine.

Gillian Dickenson