By the wayside He found me:
darkness on the face of the deep.
He sits down and asks for a drink,
I went down to the spring and filled my jar
but the water is bitter and cannot be drunk.
All the waters of the Nile are turned to blood
and they have no wine.
Strike the rock, pierce its side
out flows blood and water
Fill the jars to the brim
for man is born of water and the Spirit.
The tree in the water, the bitter is made sweet
taste the water, now the best of wines.
My blood is real drink
he who believes shall never thirst.
Living Water wells up
and I fill my jar, "Drink my Lord."
"Whose daughter are you?" He asks
as He drinks from my stream by the wayside.
And therefore He lifts up His head
…looking up to Heaven
and He bows it
"It is finished, My Sister, My Bride."
Mother Clare, CFR