Poem September 28, 1946 Issue

The Cleansing

EDITH COONLEY HOWES

Wash Thou my feet, O Lord! Thine eyes alone
See me as free from stain of earth's dark dust.
Let every trace of former errant days
Find full ablution at Thy tender touch.
Oh, wash my feet, for I have wandered much.

Yet not my feet alone, but these two hands
So long employed with whims of self apart.
Oh, bathe these hands, and with Thy gentleness
Teach them to comfort; fit them for the art
Of ministering to another's heart.

And now, O Lord, my head! As Peter prayed,
Here low I stoop, that no pure drop replete
With cleansing power be wasted through false pride.
Lave this unruly head. Oh, make me meet
Through Christ's sweet grace to wash my brother's feet.

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