A Conversation between Christ and the Rowan Tree
O Rowan Tree, weep not for me.
Limb on limb, I lie outstretched,
Thou hold’st me up in thine own arms,
Thou cradlest me from birth.
Weep not, weep not, O Rowan Tree,
Weep not for me.
O Christ, I can’st but weep for Thee,
I sorrow to be the instrument of torture for Thy limbs.
My tears pour down in steady flow,
The sap pours from my wounds,
Where nails have held Thee fast to me.
I did but wish to cradle Thee as in the manger days,
And now I weep from guilt.
Sorrowing, I weep for Thee.
O Rowan Tree, thou should’st not weep,
The sin is man’s not thine.
See, here, I bless thy flowing tears
And make them drops of wine.
Blood red, henceforth, thy berries be,
Thy berries, red as blood,
Thy tears, blood red as wine,
Wine red, as my own blood.