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Now love to this unloving breast
Has come, abandoning a throne; And trustful as a child at rest He lays His head—upon a stone.
The Holy One to this foul cell
Descends to banquet there with me. What can I offer but the smell And running sores of leprosy?
Ah God! Ah Son of Man! Without A miracle how can it be?
Make now the very stones cry out,
The leper clean to welcome Thee..
Theodore Maynard.
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- Copyright © 1929 Provincial Council of the English Province of the Order of Preachers
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