Think of the Son of God, how he
Died on the tree our souls to save,
Think of the nails that pierced him through,
Think of him too, in lowly grave.
Think of the spear the soldier bore,
Think how it tore holy side.
Think of the bitter gall for drink,
Think of it, think, for us he died.
Think upon Christ who gave his blood
Poured in a flood our souls to win,
Think of the mingled tide that gushed
Forth at the thrust to wash our sin.
Crucifix in the south cloister.
Lines from Gaelic hymn at Friday Lauds.