Unfathomed depths of pure humanity
Speak in that face, and those enfolding hands
Laid lightly on the clinging child who stands
As child protected, as Thy subject, free.
In Thy still gaze the calm infinity
Of selfless sorrow, conquers, and commands
Our lesser griefs to loose their temporal bands,
Or bind in closer brotherhood to Thee.

For 'Man of Sorrows' to those eyes of Thine
The eyes we lift, with gathering tears are wet;
The pathos of that face but half divine
Subdues us, for such passion no man yet
Has known as that whereof the royal sign:
Sovereign compassion on Thy brow is set.