I had not heard of that heaven-hardy holy man,
who stood fast, firm against the blast of fiends and foes,
a suppliant, head-bowed and hand-clasped, begging of his Lord,
the Ward of Heaven, who stands, his hands upraised,
pierced long ago by Pilate and the Jews,
sly-stained with his blood, "on us and on our children".
Not otherwise are we, so often galled by grace,
our race, reared raging 'gainst the Lamb, I AM,
but checked, choked, charged with sin, acquitted,
not by might nor power, piety, or pity, but by love,
caught out by Christ, sought by soul-savior Son,
so that we beg of him, tear-torn and tired by sin, "O God,
your blood be upon us and on our children!"