Iesu dulcis amor meus

Jesu! as though Thyself wert here,
I draw in trembling sorrow near;
And hanging o’er thy form divine,
Kneel down to kiss these wounds of thine.

Ah me, how naked art Thou laid!
Bloodstain’d, distended, cold, and dead!
Joy of my soul—my Saviour sweet,
Upon this sacred Winding Sheet!

Hail, awful brow! hail, thorny wreath!
Hail, countenance now pale in death!
Whose glance but late so brightly blaz’d,
That Angels trembled as they gaz’d.

And hail to thee, my Saviour’s side;
And hail to thee, thou wound so wide;
Thou wound more ruddy than the rose,
True antidote of all our woes!

Oh, by those sacred hands and feet
For me so mangled! I entreat,
My Jesu, turn me not away,
But let me here for ever stay.