The hateful, the abhorred, the
accursed sin, that caused it all.

(Winslow, "Three Degrees of Christ's Manifestation")

Oh that my head were waters, and my eyes were
fountains of tears, that I might weep, dear Lord,
while meditating upon the ignominy, the malignity,
and the suffering to which mankind subjected You.

Had another order of being....
so insulted Your person;
so mangled Your form;
so requited Your love;
so slighted and abhorred You;
I might have wept in secret places; mourned, and
afflicted my soul, and vowed eternal vengeance
against Your calumniators and Your murderers!

But it was hatred, ingratitude, and malignity
wearing my own nature. It was MAN, yes, Lord,
it was I myself! Had it not been for....
my sin,
my crime,
my hell;
that spotless soul of Yours had known no burden,
that gentle spirit no cloud, that tender heart no grief,
and that sacred body no scar.

And when I read the story of how You were wronged:
how they calumniated You,
how they blasphemed You,
how they scourged You,
how they spit upon You,
how they mocked You,
how they smote You, and
then bore You to a felon's death;
I could cover myself with sackcloth, and bury my
face in ashes, and no more cherish the sin; the hateful,
the abhorred, the accursed sin, that caused it all.