Had ever proved so sharp a sword
To my inconstancy_.

"_Three times I did deny Thee, Lord!
And yet, thou couldst forgive,
Now am I thine--in life, in death;
Thee will I serve with every breath,
While I have breath to give_."

They sped by an open window,
Where one knelt all alone,
In great amaze, in greater grief,
In woe that wrestled with belief,
The Mother mourned her Son.

"_My son, I knew thee more than man,--
Ah me!--and the heart of me!
Yet, man in God, and God in man,
Still wast thou part of me_.

"_The nails through thy dear hands and feet,--
Ah me! they pierced my own.
The thorns that on thy brow they plied,--
The spear they drove into thy side,--
The pangs thy Godhead could not hide,--
They pierced me too, my son_.

"_My son! My son! My more than son,
My heart is full for thee!
Yet, tho' I know thee so much more