The Cup of Tears

MY God! my God! with passionate appeal,
Pardon I crave for these mad moods of mine, —
Can I remember, with no heart to feel,
The gift of Thy dear Son, the Man Divine —
My God! what agonies of love were Thine,
Sitting alone, forgotten, on Thy height,
Pale, powerless, awful in that Lonely Light,
While 'neath Thy feet the cloudy hyaline
Rain'd blood upon the darkness, — where Thine Own
Held the black Cup of all earth's tears, and cried!
Ev'n then, tho' Thou wert conscious of his groan,
Pale in that Lonely Light Thou did'st abide,
Nor dared, even then, tho' shaken on Thy throne,
To reach Thy hand and dash the Cup aside.