Rood Poem

I saw the best of visions, on a lent-tide day
While wind over wold hearkened heaven’s
Rain and grace: good-grace and gifted gray
But loft’s lorn now and kens no more

My eyes beheld, were bid to see-
A tree, a rough-rood lifted, lain to earth
To world’s weather-gleamed grass-lea.
And here I held halt in broken-cedar holm.

Deep-delved lay the wounds, dark and woven
Broken, unwrought down, bleeding out
Lich-tree, lorn of life, left to death, chosen
To a fate most strange- but now, hearken!

Love is lain, grace given and grown full-
What mercy is this, O licht-tree? What merit
Undeserving? What grace to a heart so dull?
But see- blood, so pure, so precious-

Heart, O heart, heed! You deserve not, are due
Not, no not a drop! Earth, O take care! O lich-tree
Bear up, bend not! Thy task do not rue!
Though night fall, though none light for look

This no dusk light is, no, but dawn, deep
Drunk, of love and loosened bonds, of men
Gifted in grace, O! Knee, bend, eye do not sleep
And have mercy O Lord, let fall Thy love-

From the broken-rood, from Thy Body borne
On a tree, for my sin slain, pierced with my shame
O have mercy Lord, through Thy sacred form
May all my love be Thine, forever more!