Nicholson & Lee, eds. The Oxford Book of English Mystical Verse. 1917.
Henry Nutcombe Oxenham (18291888)145. The Child-Christ on the Cross
V
Thou wilt ascend the Cross to die:
Why hangs the Child before His time
Stretched on that bed of agony?
No scourge has dealt its cruel smart,
In hands and feet no nail-prints show,
No spear is planted in My heart.
Hung bare beneath the sunless sky,
Nor mixed the draught of gall and wine
To mock My dying agony.
My child, I travail for thy good,
And for thy sake I hang alway
Self-crucified upon the Rood.
To keep thee pure from sin’s alloy,
I cloud the sunshine of My youth;
The Man must suffer in the Boy.
The forfeit crown, the eternal loss,
Lie deep my sorrowing soul within,
And nail My Body to the Cross.
A Child upon that Cross I rest;
All night I for My children pray,
All day I woo them to My breast.
Ere I be lifted up to die,
Where cold the Paschal moonbeams shine
At noon on darkened Calvary.
The nails will fix Me to the tree;
But I shall hang as I do now,
Self-crucified for love of thee!’