Because of thee immortal Love hath died:
Because thy wilful heart will not believe,
Thy hands and mine a thorny crown must weave,
And build a cross for Love the crucified.

Behold, how beautiful the limbs that bleed—
The limbs that bleed, O stubborn heart, for us !
Stilled are the lids so softly tremulous,
And mute the mouth of our eternal need. . . .

Though this thy fearful lips would now deny,
Love is divine and cannot wholly die:
Draw forth the nails thy tender hands have driven,

And we will know the mercy infinite,
Will find redemption in our own delight,
And in each other's heart the only heaven.