A whispered call, no more, to serve my God
Within the Sacred Body of His Son.
Shall I in quiet cloister Glory nod,
Or bless his flock whene’er the mass is done?
Am I the hands to heal or knees to kneel,
The tongue to tell or feet to follow fast,
His triumph, majesty and friendship feel,
Or suffer steel and lashes to the last?
‘Tis none of these, His will is just not so.
The whispered call has left, and left alone
This solemn slave to grieve as ages flow
Amid the dark, the void is all I own.
Forgotten and forlorn, my final plea:
Why has my God my God abandoned me?