Classic Poem

Jesus, my Lord, when I look upon Thee
And Thy nail-pierced hands fast to the tree,
All wretched pride melts 'neath Thy cross;
Things of this world become as dross.

Jesus, My Lord, when I look upon Thee
And Thy nail-pierced hands outstretched toward me,
All self desires melt 'neath Thy gaze;
One desire looms: Thine, Lord, always!

Jesus, my Lord, when I look upon Thee
And Thy nail-pierced hands broken for me,
Things of this world grow dimmer still;
One wish remains: Master, Thy will!

Jesus, my Lord, when I look upon Thee
And Thy nail-pierced hands bleeding for me,
This heart and soul melt 'neath such love;
Jesus, my Lord, sent from above.