Poetry

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A band of soldiers
Took our Lord
To the hall
With each a sword

They stripped him bare
A robe He wore
Then they mocked
And beat Him sore

Upon His head
A crown did place
Made of thorns
That bruised His face

Hail, hail
To this king
What pain and sorrow
Did He bring

On Him they spit
And with a reed
Beat His face
And made Him bleed

After mocking
His royalty stripped
Replaced his clothes
And gashed His lip

A tree prepared
To crucify
Then led Him off
There to die

Simon the Cyrene
His cross did bare
None else to help
None to care

At skulls hill
To Golgotha went
Agony and pain
His energy spent
Wine and gall
Mixed to stink
But He refused
And would not drink

They stretched him out
Not against His will
And stood Him high
On Golgotha Hill

The prophet’s words
Did come true
He did it all
For me and you

And His cloths
The soldiers sought
They bid on them
And cast the lot

The King of Jews
Above him wrote
Many gathered
To sit and gloat

Then two thieves
On left and right
The sky grew dark
And turned to night

Build the temple
In three days
Save your self
Clear this hays

He trusted God
Let’s watch and see
If God comes down
And with Him be

From sixth to ninth
The darkness stayed
Many mocked
Others prayed


With anguished words
Upon the tree
Eli, lama
Sabachthani

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