Jesus of the scars

During the last day or two I've been recalling a bit of this poem that Peter Vol shared on his blog a long time ago: (i found it on someone else' blog here; and thought it might be worth seeing a youtube video of someone putting it to song too. Here it is, if you want it too)

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poem by Edward Shillito (1872-1948), a Free Church minister in England during World War I:

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If we have never sought, we seek Thee now;

Thine eyes burn through the dark, our only stars;

We must have sight of thorn-pricks on Thy brow,

We must have Thee, O Jesus of the Scars.

The heavens frighten us; they are too calm;

In all the universe we have no place.

Our wounds are hurting us; where is the balm?

Lord Jesus, by Thy Scars, we claim Thy grace.

If, when the doors are shut, Thou drawest near,

Only reveal those hands, that side of Thine;

We know to-day what wounds are, have no fear,

Show us Thy Scars, we know the countersign.

The other gods were strong; but Thou wast weak;

They rode, but Thou didst stumble to a throne;

But to our wounds only God’s wounds can speak,

And not a god has wounds, but Thou alone.

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