The Homage of Death

How willingly
I yield to Thee
This very dust!
My body, that was not enough!
Fair was it as a silken stuff,
Or as a spice, or gold.
Fair to behold!

Beloved, I give Thee all
This Adam's Fall,
This my desert —
Thy Father would not let Thee see
Corruption, but I give it Thee.
Behold me thus abhorred.
My penance, Lord!

A handful in Thy Hand,
As if of fair, white sand.
Thou wroughtest me;
Clean was I for a little while ....
This dust is of another style;
Its fumes, most vile of sin.
To stink begin.

O Victor King, and when
Thou raisest me again,
For me no fame;
Just white, amid the whiter souls,
Efface me 'mid the shining stoles,
Lost in a lovely brood
And multitude:

My soul even as the maid
Cophetua arrayed
In samite fine;
And set her by Him on His Throne.
O Christ, what homage can atone
For this caprice in Thee
To worship me?