Comforter of the Afflicted

The Penitent Thief Speaks to Christ on the Cross.

My Lord and King, know that I do not know

How choked with gore I now confess Thy reign,

Or sense, through all those streams of blood that flow

Across Thy face, Thy majesty so plain.

Or how my noxious blood now cleanses me

Where only ere I turned to Thee its curse

Had added torment to my cries, as we,

From our two crosses, suffer, yet converse.

For, I, not knowing Thee before this hour,

Repentant, baptized, pardoned and absolved,

Feel consolation, like a summer shower,

Refreshing me. Yet, something’s unresolved:

That Woman at Thy feet? She seemed to pray

For me… who will see Paradise, this day.

From “Sonnets for the Queen of Heaven” © Joseph Charles MacKenzie. All rights reserved.