Love's Touch

Marian J. cobb

I like to think that at Gethsemane
When Jesus healed the high priest's servant's ear,
Severed by the impetuous Peter's sword
Wielded through a mistaken zeal and fear,
In that same hour the high priest's servant gained
A vision of the Christ, whose healing power
Banished forever all his hatred, when
Love's hand reached out and touched him in that hour;
I like to think that from that moment he
Became a follower of the Christ, and learned
In sweet humility to live the truth
Which erstwhile he in ignorance had spurned.

O Christ, be with me in my hour of need;
When error crowds on me with swords and staves,
Help me to rise as our great Master rose,
And know the truth which purifies and saves;
Then when injustice, condemnation, hate,
Would lead me bound unto their judgment hall,
I shall not wield resentment's sword, but trust
The touch of Love to free me from their thrall;
For steadfast hearts, who in earth's darkest hours
Trust in the hand of Love to set them free,
Find, like the Master, resurrection comes
An aftermath of each Gethsemane.

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