The wounded hands, the weary human face.

Christ Bearing the Cross, with Dominican Friar by Barna da Siena

Come down, O Christ, and help me! Reach thy hand
For I am drowning in a stormier sea
Than Simon on thy lake of Galilee:
The wine of life is split upon the sand,
My heart is as some famine-murdered land
When all good things have perished utterly,
And well I know my soul in Hell must lie
If I this night before God's throne should stand.
"He sleeps, perchance, or rideth to the chase,
Like Baal, when his prophets howled the name
From morn till noon on Carmel's smitten height."
Nay, peace, I shall behold before the night,
The feet of brass, the robe more white than flame,
The wounded hands, the weary human face.

-- Oscar Wilde, E Tenebris