Poem By Thomas Ashe
When Christ spake peace to His, save only one,
And he believed not till he look'd upon
The nail-hurt hands, and feet that many a tear
Made wet, and rending of the soldier's spear,
Then did the Lord upon him cast a frown,
Or break the reed that unbelief bow'd down?
Nay, but to him he turn'd the wounds that bled,
And 'Reach thy finger and believe' He said;
And bright faith flash'd, keen-temper'd, like a sword.
With what sharp bliss his ear caught such a word!