_FELLOW SUFFERERS_
_When men of malice wrought the crown for Thee
Didst Thou complain?
Nay; in each thorn God's finger Thou didst see,
His love thro' pain._
_His finger did but press the ripened Vine,
Thy fruit to prove,
That henceforth all the world might drink the wine
Of Thy great love._
_So when the darkness rose about Thy feet
Thy lips met His,
Amid the upper light, in Death's long sweet,
Releasing kiss._
_And shall I cry aloud in anger when
Men make for me
A Cross less harsh? Nay, I'll remember then
Thy constancy._
_And if the darkness hide me from Thy sight
At God's command,
I'll talk with Thee all thro' the prayerful night,
And touch Thy hand;_
_Greatly content, if I whose life has been
So long unwise,
May, wounded, on Thy wounded bosom lean
In Paradise._