We printed the first verse of this poem last year. The second verse was sent to us by Jonathan Procopio last month.
“Inner ring of dogs surround,
Spotless Lamb from whence no sound,
Outer ring, what mockery staging,
Roaring bulls of Bashan raging.
Blessed Lamb, how thus forsaken,
Soon to be of lion taken.
What cause for Thee to thus be torn,
Tossed to and fro of unicorn.
Yet, far above such mortal woes,
Yeah, far above immortal foes,
Within The soul, within Thy breast,
The sword hath found a place of rest,
By God forsaken, by darkness bound,
Deliverance sought, but silence found.
A worm? No man? Ah, what taunting,
Companion sought, companion wanting.
Blessed hind, how thus surrounded?
Such innocence by pain confounded.
What cause for Thee to thus sustain
The dust of death, we thus to gain.
Yet now Thy strength, Thy heart, Thy tongue,
Dried up like wax, of water wrung.
Thus Heaven bereaved of Heaven’s best;
Thou hast made a place of rest