Lord Jesus, for my sake you come,
the Son of Man, and God most high;
you leave behind your Father's home
to live and serve, to love and die.
Your eyes seek out our world's distress
through insult, grief and agony;
they meet our tears with tenderness,
yet blaze upon our blasphemy.
Are these the robes that make men proud,
is this the crown that you must wear?
Your face is set, your head is bowed,
and silently you persevere.
You never grasped at selfish gain,
and yet your hands are marked with blood;
transfixed by nails, they cling in pain
to sorrow on a cross of wood.
Lord Jesus, come to me anew;
your hands, your eyes, your thoughts be mine
until I learn to love like you
and live on earth the life divine.