MEDIÆVAL HYMNS.
103
In like wise His blessed Feet
Are to torture given,
As the Hands that had so oft
In our battle striven.
Streams of Blood are trickling down
From those holy sources:
Hither! weak and sinful soul!
And renew thy forces:
This the medicine, that shall cure
Terrors and remorses;
This the writing, that for us
Freedom's deed endorses.
Then the Lord exclaimed,—"I thirst!"
(Meet did Scripture make it:)
On a reed they raise the sponge
To the lips that spake it:
Vinegar and gall they give
To His thirst to slake it:
Which when He had tasted of,
He refused to take it.
Jesu, wondrous to the last!
What was Thine intention ?
Thou wast silent of the Cross,
