O seat of pain! whence agony Through all thy church, thy body, flows! We gaze upon thy brimming woes, And all our Uvea are torn with thee. Yet, ghastly Skull, the dome of mind, The throne of regal power, thou. Whereby the willing fealties bow. The homages of all mankind. Thou art the Head! From thee the nerves Of farthest nations radiate, And vital thrills of home and state Fly swift along their shining curves. Yea, clothed Skull, no longer bare. With black and hollow eyes of death. Dear Beauty's form and living breath Are in the aspect thou dost wear. No eyes so tender, lips so sweet. No flesh so kindly warm as thine. And in thy countenance divine All gracious lovelinesses meet. Place of a skull! Oh, Calvary! The hope, the might, the Joy, the worth. The confidence of all the earth, Centre and calmly rest in thee |