O sacred gift, to feel both joy and pain,
A mercy so severe by hands divine,
Repeating in my mind like a cockswain,
Echoes of glee and pangs of love’s design.
How bittersweet, the ache of days long fled,
The specters of dear faces from my youth,
In distant memory and words she said,
Lies wistful warmth of heart like sweet vermouth.
For fleeting pain and sorrow are but hues,
That paint the canvas of this mortal tree,
And through their shades, eternal joys imbue—
Through Eucharistic wound, remember me.
I thank thee Lord some aches are slow to heal,
There-in heart and memories now congeal.