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  It Is Finished  

 

Dear Lord, let me recount to Thee
Some of the great things thou hast done
        For me, even me
        Thy little one.

It was not I that cared for Thee,--
But Thou didst set Thy heart upon
        Me, even me
        Thy little one.

And therefore was it sweet to Thee
To leave Thy Majesty and Throne,
        And grow like me
        A Little One,

A swaddled Baby on the knee
Of a dear Mother of Thine own,
        Quite weak like me
        Thy little one.

Thou didst assume my misery,
And reap the harvest I had sown,
        Comforting me
        Thy little one.

Jerusalem and Galilee,--
Thy love embraced not those alone,
        But also me
        Thy little one.

Thy unblemished Body on the Tree
Was bared and broken to atone
        For me, for me
        Thy little one.

Thou lovedst me upon the Tree,--
Still me, hid by the ponderous stone,--
        Me always,--me
        Thy little one.

And love of me arose with Thee
When death and hell lay overthrown:
        Thou lovedst me
        Thy little one.

And love of me went up with Thee
To sit upon Thy Father's Throne:
        Thou lovest me
        Thy little one.

Lord, as Thou me, so would I Thee
Love in pure love's communion,
        For Thou lov'st me
        Thy little one:

Which love of me brings back with Thee
To Judgment when the Trump is blown,
        Still loving me
        Thy little one.

       - Christina G. Rossetti


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