Via Crucis

Via Crucis

Weep now, my soul, for shortly comes the hour

When earth and heaven meet and die,

When creation’s blood is giv’n to pour

In answer to our last despairing cry.

Judge not, lest you are judged; but judged he is

And sentenced to a cruel death on wood,

Wood he must carry to a bitter hill

On which he’s nailed and fastened for our good.

Who greets him on his way or shares his grief?

Simon, Veronica, his mother, all are there.

Women mourn as it is their belief,

“Weep for yourselves,” he says, “your own despair.”

He falls but dragged upright he stays his course –

The soldiers will not let him die too soon.

Simon bears the wood, as soldiers force

Strong shoulders on this Friday afternoon.

He hangs three hours and sometimes speaks a word:

“Take this my mother, John and be her son.”

“Join me in paradise,” the good thief heard;

“I thirst,” he breathes then gasps and cries, “It’s done!”

His body hangs on this foul gibbet cross

Until it is allowed it shall be taken

To Mary, who, mourning her bitter loss

Yet knows the tortured world is not forsaken.

Of all of us, she lives and trusts in God,

Your father; she knows not quite how or when

But only that his hand fulfils the deed;

And that you’ll live and love and heal again.