The "wounded surgeon" works while I'm awake And only by compassion does not break The heart which beat so steady yet so dead While severed from the life of Him, the Head. The subject upon which His scalpel strikes Is the awful altar of my blood-bought life Which, once decked with sentimental blooms Has become the needed operating room. Still, how can I give up my whole life to be Ever the thorn-struck patient unto Thee? Much simpler, swifter to submit to die Than every moment on You to rely. Most willingly I'd give myself in death; Easier the final than the ev'ry breath.
*”wounded surgeon” is a reference to T.S. Eliot’s “East Coker.”