At What Cost?

Luther at the Diet of Worms (1877) by Anton von Werner

Cross of Christ, empty,

I yearn to kiss thy Lord.

Where have they put Thee,

In minds dimly stored?

Blood of Christ, waiting,

Fill and grant me power.

Juice in plastic casing

Shall with age grow sour.

Body of Christ, shattered,

Thy bones were all intact.

So what have they scattered,

Invisible and abstract?

Mother of Christ, forgotten,

Though never by her Son.

May the love of Him begotten

Be with my soul one.

Saints of Christ, passed,

Be quick with thy prayers.

They stand on graves vast

Yet mind their own affairs.