“They have no wine.” The tender guest
 Was grieved their feast should lack for aught:
He seemed to slight her mute request:
 Not less the grace she wished He wrought.

O great in love! O full of grace!
 That winds in thee, a river broad,
From Christ, with heaven-reflecting face,
 Gladdening the City of thy God:

Be this thy gift: that man henceforth
 No more should creep through life content
(Draining the springs impure of earth)
 With life's material element.

Let sacraments to sense succeed:
 Let nought be winning, nought be good
Which fails of Him to speak, and bleed
 Once more with His all-cleansing blood!

“They have no wine.” At heaven's high feast
 That soft petition still hath place,
And bathes—so wills that kingly Priest
 Whose “hour” is come—the worlds with grace.