THE LENTEN OFFERING

Christ, here’s a thorn More poison-fanged than any that you knew: On the north side of our churchyard it grew, Where lie the suicides and babes chance-born. Christ, here are nails, Once driven in, will never lose their hold: Forged at Krupp’s, Creusot’s, Vickers’, and tipped with gold Pen-nibs that signed the Treaty of Versailles. Christ, here’s a sharp Spear, can wound deeper than all other spears: In baths of human blood and human tears Tempered, and whetted on the human heart.