Risen Lord,
Your wounds remain open
for our sake
in Your mercy.

From Your pierced side
flows a river
no sin can exhaust,
no sorrow outrun.

Today the Church kneels
not in judgment
but in the endless patience
of Your Most Sacred heart.

I come poor in holiness,
late in repentance,
slow to love.

Still You say
Come.

And in that single word
the tomb is opened again
and mercy
has the final voice.