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Hosanna, 2: Golgotha
The empty cross---stained, where my Savior bled;
the crown of thorns that once circled His head;
the nails that fastened Him to that rough wood;
the robe they diced for (dropped by him who won
it when the very earth began to shake,
shocked by the licence fleshly men will take
when killing a man, even God's own Son):
these relics still remain there, and I stood
(merely a curious, young passerby)
beneath that supernaturally darkened sky,
remaining the short time He took to die
(death should be slow when Romans crucify).
But now the sun sinks down into twilight,
bringing a silent---but unrestful---night.
