Poem by Chris Becker
The Man steps forward
His body broke
Falsely accused
No words He spoke
The crowd looks on
Without a tear
No call for mercy
Echoes here
What should be done?
The governor cries
The unanimous shout,
Crucify
They lead Him farther
Out to the hill
They pierce His body
His blood they spill
The Man hangs shamed
Above the scene
His armies waiting
To intervene
The Father poses
The cup of wrath
The Son cries out
Hold it back
Pour it one me
Let these ones go
I’ll take it all
I’ll take the stroke
With wrath unmatched
Our cup is drained
The sky is black
My Saviour pained
The crowd disperses
The work is done
His Father pleased
My soul is won