Classic Poem

1 Because, dear Christ, your tender, wounded arm
2 Bends back the brier that edges life's long way,
3 That no hurt comes to heart, to soul no harm,
4 I do not feel the thorns so much to-day.

5 Because I never knew your care to tire,
6 Your hand to weary guiding me aright,
7 Because you walk before and crush the brier,
8 It does not pierce my feet so much to-night.

9 Because so often you have hearkened to
10 My selfish prayers, I ask but one thing now,
11 That these harsh hands of mine add not unto
12 The crown of thorns upon your bleeding brow.