The Deserted - Poem by Katharine Tynan
Thou Who wert kindest of the kind --
Since out of sight is out of mind --
There's none to do Thee kindnesses
In Thy last anguish and distress.
Thou art left all alone, alone.
Where are Thy faithful lovers flown?
Where is the multitude that fed,
With loaves and fishes comfortèd?
The blind Thou mad'st to see? the lame
That walked? the one leper who came
Of nine made clean? The dumb that spoke?
Where are they -- all Thy loving folk?
How is it they have naught to say?
Where's Lazarus risen from the clay?
Where is the widow of Nain? where
Jairus's daughter, small and fair?
Judas has sold Thee to Thy foes,
And Peter weeps while the cock crows.
Simon will help Thee on Thy road
Unwillingly -- ah, Lamb of God!
Thou bearest the world's weight up that hill,
And none to help Thee with good will;
Stumbling and falling, while Thy hurt
Makes for the rabble noble sport.
But yet there's balm in Gilead,
For here's His Mother, sweet and sad,
Here's Magdalen weeping, and with them
The women of Jerusalem;
They have run all the: way since one
Brought them the news: He's not alone!
Veronica is nothing loth
To wipe His poor face with her cloth.
His Mother's by Him and St. John,
With many a starry legion;
Magdalen's hair is round His feet,
Her tears wash off the blood and sweat.
Thou Who wert kindest of the kind,
Though out of sight be out of mind --
Thou art not forgot: by land and sea
The broken hearts come home to Thee,
And bear Thine anguish and Thy grief
Till the Third Day shall bring relief.
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