Am l a stone and not a sheep,
Standing, O Christ, beneath Thy cross,
To number drop by drop Thy blood’s slow loss,
And yet not weep?

Not so those women loved
Who with exceeding grief lamented Thee;
Not so fallen Peter weeping bitterly;
Not so the thief was moved

Not so the sun and moon
Which hid their faces in a starless sky
A horror of great darkness at broad noon
I, only!

Yet give not o’er
But seek Thy sheep, true shepherd of the flock,
Greater than Moses, turn and look once more,
And smite a rock