Morning Prayer from Bernard of Clairveaux

O sacred head now wounded
With grief and shame weighed down
Now scornfully surrounded
With thorns Thine only crown

How art thou pale with anguish
With sore abuse and scorn
How dost that visage languish
Which once was bright as morn?

What language shall I borrow
To thank Thee, dearest Friend?
For this Thy dying sorrow
Thy pity without end?

O make me Thine forever
And should I fainting be
O let me never, never
Outlive my love to thee.


About Nick Gill

orphan-poet-adoptee-soldier-prodigal-servant-husband- counselor-desperate seeker after my Father's face "I feel my body weakened by the years as people turn to gods of cruel design. Is it that they fear the pain of death, or is it that they fear the joy of life?" - Toad the Wet Sprocket

Posted on 4 August, 2013, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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