Hast thou no scar? No hidden scar on foot, or side, or hand? I hear thee sung as mighty in the land, I hear them hail thy bright ascendant star, Hast thou no scar? Hast thou no wound? Yet, I was wounded by the archers, spent. Leaned me against the tree to die, and rent By ravening beasts that compassed me, I swooned: Hast thou no wound? No wound? No scar? Yet as the Master shall the servant be, And pierced are the feet that follow Me; But thine are whole. Can he have followed far Who has no wound nor scar?
But I have seen a fiery flame Take to his pure and burning heart Mere dust of earth, to it impart His virtue, till that dust became Transparent loveliness of flame. O Fire of God, Thou fervent Flame, Thy dust of earth in Thee would fall, And so be lost beyond recall, Transformed by Thee, its very name Forgotten in Thine own, O Flame.
Upon the sandy shore an empty shell, Beyond the shell infinity of sea; O Saviour, I am like that empty shell; Thou art the Sea to me. A sweeping wave rides up the shore, and, lo, Each dim recess the coiled shell within Is searched, is filled, is filled to overflow By water crystalline. Not to the shell is any glory then: All glory give we to the glorious sea. And not to me is any glory when Thou overflowest me. Sweep over me, Thy shell, as low I lie, I yield me to the purposes of Thy will; Sweep up, O conquering waves, and purify. And with Thy fulness fill.