With bleeding brows beneath a thorn-meshed crown,
With swollen hands fast bound in leathern thong,
I saw One stand amid a surging throng
That spat on Him and strove to drag Him down.
On His bowed back the ridg’d welts scarlet lay
Traced long with bloody dew. His haggard face
Was streaked with sweat and blood, as in that place
He silent stood and silent gazed away.
Once more that One I saw, still garlanded
With mocking thorns. Through either bleeding hand
And through both patient feet a mangling nail
Was driven deep. Some cursed, some laughed, cried “Hail,
God crucified!...” And some crouched low in dread
And wept, and thunderous darkness filled the land...