My God, I dread not the day when you call me home. I fear not the day when I hear your voice, “Come now, my child.” I shrink not back from your wounded hands when you reach out for me. Together we will walk through the divine door that leads me on the golden path of glory to home. How I love the hand that was pierced for me, the hand that bore the bitter spike, the hand through which your precious blood was drained out for me. I shall clutch your wounded hand and you will never let me go. We will walk hand in hand through eternity.
My Lord, just when I am tempted to do some evil, you step in my way and hold me back. Just when I am tempted to think some evil, you hold your hand in front of my eyes and stop my wrong contemplations. Just when I am tempted to run away from a good I should do, you grab hold of me, and rush me back to do what needs to be done. Ah, Lord, you are my rampart, my deliverer, my hero. You make me what I ought to be. I bow at your feet.
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