Am I a stone and not a sheep,
  That I can stand, O Christ, beneath Thy cross,
  To number drop by drop Thy blood's slow loss
And yet not weep?

Not so those women loved
  Who with exceeding grief lamented Thee;
  Not so fallen Peter weeping bitterly;
Not so the thief was moved;

Not so the Sun and Moon
  Which hid their faces in the starless sky,
  A horror of great darkness at broad noon —
I, only I.

Yet give not o'er,
  But seek Thy sheep, true Shepherd of the flock
  Greater than Moses, turn and look once more,
And smite a rock.