Twelve legions girded with angelic swordWere at his beck, the scorned and buffeted:He healed another's scratch; his own side bled,Side, feet, and hands, with cruel piercings gored.Oh wonderful the wonders left undone!And scarce less wonderful than those he wrought; Oh self-restraint, passing human thought,To have all power, and be as having none; Oh self-denying love, which felt aloneFor needs of others, never for its own.
-Richard Chenevix Trench
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