Dear Lord, let me recount to Thee Some of the great things thou hast done For me, even me Thy little one. It was not I that cared for Thee,— But Thou didst set Thy heart upon Me, even me Thy little one. And therefore was it sweet to Thee To leave Thy Majesty and Throne, And grow like me A Little One, A swaddled Baby on the knee Of a dear Mother of Thine own, Quite weak like me Thy little one. Thou didst assume my misery, And reap the harvest I had sown, Comforting me Thy little one. Jerusalem and Galilee,— Thy love embraced not those alone, But also me Thy little one. Thy unblemished Body on the Tree Was bared and broken to atone For me, for me Thy little one. Thou lovedst me upon the Tree,— Still me, hid by the ponderous stone,— Me always,—me Thy little one. And love of me arose with Thee When death and hell lay overthrown: Thou lovedst me Thy little one. And love of me went up with Thee To sit upon Thy Father’s Throne: Thou lovedst me Thy little one: Lord, as Thou me, so would I Thee Love in pure love’s communion, For Thou lov’st me Thy little one: Which love of me brings back with Thee To Judgment when the Trump is blown, Still loving me Thy little one.
“It is finished”
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