O, enter then the Temple, when
The Lord still passes in;
The one without was first to doubt,
The blessing last to win.
O cruel! must thy hand be thrust
Thy source of life so near;
Thy Lord assail, hard as the nail,
Unkinder than the spear?
Yet, see, He comes with peace again,
With only peace to all;
No breathing now upon the brow
Where soon the fire shall fall:
Scarce will that eye His wounds descry,
No hand He now extends;
How should that flesh be probed afresh
Here, in the house of friends?
So now, thy Lord, thy God confess,
Believe and worship, too,
And first adore—yet they have more
Who deem the witness true.
Thy faith has been but what was seen—
Blest they who still believe
What eye nor ear shall see or hear,
Nor heart of man conceive!
O, on my body, not on Thine,
Lord Jesus, let me see
The blessèd marks of love divine,
Which Thou hast borne for me;
Compunctions sweet on hands and feet,
The pierced, the open heart;
Or e’er, without one faithless doubt,
I see Thou as Thou art.