The Suffering Son of God.
O SACRED brow! though unbelief
Discoveres not thy majesty,
Beneath that vail of shame and grief,
Its glory still unchanged I see.
Thy visage, marred beyond compare,
Yet beauteous to my eye appears;
Those features heaven's own image bear,
Even though defiled with blood and tears. Nor, through the unending heavenly day,
However great its splendors are,
More glory will that face display,
Than now its pallid features wear.
Even there, in Beauty's own domain,
The eye shall ne'er such beauty see;
Such glory as adorned thy train
When going up to Calvary. Ye angels, who with equal love
The Father and the Son adore,
Fulfilling in the courts above
Your ministry forevermore;
Ye mighty seraphs near his throne,
Think ye the Incarnate Mystery
Has ever with such radiance shone,
As on the hill of Calvary? The work of sacrifice below
There crowned the heaven-descended Word;
The shame of Mary's Son is now
The glory of the Son of God.
My name is Love, the Father said;—
Jesus replied, when from above
Descended, on the cross he bled,
I am thy Son; I too am Love. For Love is highest excellence,
The source of all the joys above;
'Tis stronger than Omnipotence,
And Jesus' richest crown is love.
How vain the honors men possess,
The honors of the loftiest state!
And heaven and earth alike confess
That charity alone is great.