CCLXXVII CHRISTO CONSOLATORI

LORD of my heart, by Thy last cry,

Let not Thy blood on earth be spent --

Lo, at Thy feet I fainting lie,

Mine eyes upon Thy wounds are bent,

Upon Thy streaming wounds my weary eyes

Wait like the parchéd earth on April skies.

Wash me, and dry these bitter tears, --

O let my heart no further roam,

'Tis Thine by vows, and hopes, and fears,

Long since -- O call Thy wanderer home;

To that dear home, safe in Thy wounded side,

Where only broken hearts their sin and shame may hide.