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Yes, I have always come to the crucifix to pray,
But I never knew Jesus Christ and His love until to-day,
I sought by the feeble ray of the dim light of my mind;
But now it is dark, I learn by touch as they do who are blind.
I feel the pulse of infinite love beat feebly like my own,
And the heart of God confined in space to a little cage of bone.
I have often pondered this but have never understood
How hands which heal are stark and still, nailed to a piece of wood.
The love that makes, the love that mends, my own weak Faith could guess,
But not the love that wills to bear man’s utter helplessness,
The love in the womb, the love int he Host, the love in the burial bands,
The power and the gentleness of the love nailed fast by feet and hands.