by
Joseph Mary Plunkett
I see His blood upon the rose
and in the stars the glory of His eyes,
His body gleams amid eternal snows,
His tears fall from the skies.
I see His face in every flower;
the thunder and the singing of the birds
are but His voice - and carven by His power;
rocks are His written words.
All pathways by His feet are worn,
His strong heart stirs the ever-beating sea,
His crown of thorns is twined with every thorn,
His cross is every tree.
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