- O sacred Head, now wounded, with grief and shame weighed down,
Now scornfully surrounded with thorns, Thine only crown;
O sacred Head, what glory, what bliss till now was Thine!
Yet, though despised and gory, I joy to call Thee mine.
- What Thou, my Lord, hast suffered, was all for sinners’ gain;
Mine, mine was the transgression, but Thine the deadly pain.
Lo, here I fall, my Savior! ’Tis I deserve Thy place;
Look on me with Thy favor, vouchsafe to me Thy grace.
- What language shall I borrow to thank Thee, dearest friend,
For this Thy dying sorrow, Thy pity without end?
O make me Thine forever, and should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never outlive my love to Thee.
- Be Thou my consolation, my shield when I must die;
Remind me of Thy passion when my last hour draws nigh.
Mine eyes shall then behold Thee, upon Thy cross shall dwell,
My heart by faith enfolds Thee. Who dieth thus dies well.
~Bernard of Clairvaux
God loves each of us as if there were only one of us to love.
When I am one of billions
there can be nothing special
to attract attention
When I blend into the background
among so many others
indistinct and plain,
common as grains of sand
There is nothing to hold me up
as rare, unique,
worthy of extra effort
on a day such as today.
Yet it is not about my worth,
my work, my words;
it is about His infinite capacity
to love anything formed
by the touch of His vast hand,
the contraction of His immense heart,
the boundlessness of His breath reaching me
I were the only one.