Frenzied mob screams angrily
"The miscreant must die . . .
Give to us Barrabas
this Jesus, CRUCIFY!" ~

The harsh, shard-thronged lash
scourging His flesh so torn . . .
facing Golgotha's torment
that fateful Friday morn ~

Mockingly the crown of thorns
pierced the head of the Lamb of God . . .
reviled, rejected ~ to the slaughter,
The Via Dolo Rosa He trod ~

His body wounded, weakened
spike~riven hands and feet . . .
whisper'd, "Father forgive them"
was e'er a plea so sweet? ~

From the cross insatiable death's
cruel, ugly shadow loomed . . .
beckoned near, a damp,
dark stone~sealed borrow'd tomb ~

Began on earth a perfect
cleansing crimson stream that day . . .
O sacred Fount of blood
to wash our sins away ~

All earth and Heaven must bow
to your Holy, Matchless name . . .
together with death, hell and the grave,
PRAISE JESUS ~ SUNDAY CAME !

H A L L E L U Y A H !!!
He is not here; HE IS RISEN !!!

Mary Carter Mizrany
February 19, 2005
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