Lord Jesus Christ, with faith in Your deep love
and mercy, now I eat Your Body racked
and torn by all the extent of trust I lacked
till to Your City’s peace You had me move.
I waited long that true ‘God’s good’ might prove
and, now I drink Your Blood with joy, the fact
of suffering’s cup from memory is blacked
(Patience’s fruit fell from a Tree above).
Swift to the Prodigal the Father ran -
so swift the Saviour runs to kiss the Cross,
that judgment and resentment at a loss
are found and vinegar dumbs doom of man.
Judge only this: my healing, Saviour kind -
my body to be Yours and Yours my mind.
(c) Mark Woodruff, 30 November 1996