1 Because, dear Christ, your tender, wounded arm 2 Bends back the brier that edges life's long way, 3 That no hurt comes to heart, to soul no harm, 4 I do not feel the thorns so much to-day. 5 Because I never knew your care to tire, 6 Your hand to weary guiding me aright, 7 Because you walk before and crush the brier, 8 It does not pierce my feet so much to-night. 9 Because so often you have hearkened to 10 My selfish prayers, I ask but one thing now, 11 That these harsh hands of mine add not unto 12 The crown of thorns upon your bleeding brow.