The Kiss of Christ

Lo, there He hangs
dying figure pinned
against the wood.
God, grant that I might
love Him.
even as I should.

I draw a little closer to
share His love divine,
and I softly hear Him
whisper,

"O foolish child of Mine,
if now I should embrace
you,
My hands would stain
you red,
and if I bent to kiss you,
My thorns would
pierce your head."
'Twas then I learned in
meekness
That love demands a
price;
'Twas then I knew that
sorrow was just
The Kiss of Christ.

- from a prayer card