A crown of thorns upon His head
Adorns His face in crimson blood.
His clothes, a pile of rags be dyed
In painful shades of sinless red.
I peek between the many men
That crowd around this man condemned
Whilst try my best to catch a glimpse
Of Who this man be, standing hemmed
And see beneath the blood and tears
And wounds and scars repulsive, oh!
A pair of eyes that gaze at me
And in that chaos, kindness show.
Those eyes doth gaze, my soul, within
And sift my thoughts in search of love.
And rather than to find their goal,
Do find a sinner’s heart thereof.
And as I doth stand quiescent there,
Caught in a gaze at those two eyes,
Yes, oh! Those eyes be pearls of wine –
I hear a thousand rising cries.
Some cry of death to be His fate
Some other cries do echo hate
And only few request to free
This man Whose eyes still gaze at me.
And then a voice is heard that talks
Of not a kinder word to hear,
A judgment falls of death on a cross
At which the mob does echo cheer.
I wish to not mere blink as if
I might lose sight of my soul, its root
But then I wonder with a sigh,
“Does He not wish the least to refute?”
And then as though an answer sent
He looks once more, mine eyes in sight,
And feels my soul, a song of sweet
That tells me “Do not worry dear”.
And then as though a sack at hand
They push and shove this man away
And at that very moment, sad,
My heart resounds of a sinner’s pray.