He sweeps in holy like a hurricane.
A hammer thunders fiercely from the sky.
He wholly burns in gorgeous, reckless rain
Of grace. Who knew it hurt so much to die?
Did You know in Your passion as He poured
You out like endless water, melted wax?
If I am rendered senseless by guilt's sword,
Were You whom He made sin, split by His ax?
My lonely silver Tree bends passively
To sufferings. The foolishness of God!
With veins of gossamer, invincibly,
I'm held, and wine runs from the press He trod.
I'm killed, I live, I wither, loved by You.
Behold what You have done and to me do.