Thou Who wert kindest of the kind --

Since out of sight is out of mind --

There's none to do Thee kindnesses

In Thy last anguish and distress.

Thou art left all alone, alone.

Where are Thy faithful lovers flown?

Where is the multitude that fed,

With loaves and fishes comfortèd?

The blind Thou mad'st to see? the lame

That walked? the one leper who came

Of nine made clean? The dumb that spoke?

Where are they -- all Thy loving folk?

How is it they have naught to say?

Where's Lazarus risen from the clay?

Where is the widow of Nain? where

Jairus's daughter, small and fair?

Judas has sold Thee to Thy foes,

And Peter weeps while the cock crows.

Simon will help Thee on Thy road

Unwillingly -- ah, Lamb of God!

Thou bearest the world's weight up that hill,

And none to help Thee with good will;

Stumbling and falling, while Thy hurt

Makes for the rabble noble sport.

But yet there's balm in Gilead,

For here's His Mother, sweet and sad,

Here's Magdalen weeping, and with them

The women of Jerusalem;

They have run all the: way since one

Brought them the news: He's not alone!

Veronica is nothing loth

To wipe His poor face with her cloth.

His Mother's by Him and St. John,

With many a starry legion;

Magdalen's hair is round His feet,

Her tears wash off the blood and sweat.

Thou Who wert kindest of the kind,

Though out of sight be out of mind --

Thou art not forgot: by land and sea

The broken hearts come home to Thee,

And bear Thine anguish and Thy grief

Till the Third Day shall bring relief.