What bruises do I see! What hideous stripes are those! Could any cruel be Enough, to give such blows? Look, how they bind his arms And vex his soul with scorns, Upon his hair They make him wear A crown of piercing thorns. Through hands and feet Sharp nails they beat: And now the cross they rear: Many look on; But only John Stands by to sigh, Mary to shed a tear. Why did he shake for cold? Why did he glow for heat? Dissolve that frost he could, He could call back that sweat. Those bruises, stripes, bonds, taunts, Those thorns, which thou didst see, Those nails, that cross, His own life's loss, Why, O why suffered he? 'Twas for thy sake. Thou, thou didst make Him all those torments bear: If then his love Do thy soul move, Sigh out a groan, weep down a melting tear. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE NEW APOCRYPHA: BERENICE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE UNSCARRED FIGHTER REMEMBERS FRANCE by KENNETH SLADE ALLING IMPROVEMENT IN THE FORTIES by THOMAS BARNARD VIVAMUS by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES WHEN TIME WAS YOUNG by SARITA HOLT BROWNLEE THE DOWNY WOODPECKER by JOHN BURROUGHS AN ANSWER TO SOME ENQUIRIES CONCERNING AUTHOR'S OPINION OF A SERMON by JOHN BYROM |