If clouds of doubt should ever fall,
A fog so thick that I should cry:
Is this the truest love of all –
Where men still suffer, bleed and die?
A quiet voice might ask of me
What other love I thought so true
What greater, deeper love I see
More heartfelt than the God I knew?
See there, beside the poor and weak,
Among the broken, there, he stands,
And with the voiceless, there to speak
With grieving heart and nail-pierced hands.
Abandoned once by dearest friends,
He meets the lonely, brings them near,
His mercy and gentle presence mends
Souls bound by bitterness and fear.
And he would show me in my prayer,
His woundedness, his cross, his shame:
The truest love of all was there –
There, even there, he knew my name.