A Song to Veronica

When Jesus stumbled with his wooden rood,
Veronica, with bold humility,
Stepped before the mob in malignant mood,
Fearing neither wrath nor its enmity.
Kneeling down, she wiped away sweat and gore
From off that holy brow, to later find
Visage true of him, whom she knelt before,
Affixed upon her humble cloth enshrined.
Ah! But thou, bright bringer of victory,
Hast kindness as thy namesake did express,
But her shawl shall perish with history.
More blessed am I than she for I possess
A relic better than all sacred art—
Thy image true imprinted on my heart.