From the Roman Soldier

From the Roman Soldier

A crown of thorns
We placed on your head
Blood coming forth
From the wounds as you bled

Beaten and scourged
From your head to your feet
You can hardly stand
You are growing so weak

“Take up Your cross to
The top of that hill,”
The crowd that has gathered
Becomes quiet and still

You say not a word
As You lift its weight
And carry Your cross
To the place of Your fate

I should try to stop this
I think to myself
But instead I put that
Thought on a shelf

“Bring me the nails”
I hear someone say
“And hold him down
It is time that he pays”

A clink of the hammer
As it drives in the nails
He cries out in pain
Oh how He did wail

“Now raise up the cross”
Comes the command
And as I pick it up
I touch His hand

His head turns my way
He looks into my eyes
“Forgive me" I say
And I start to cry

The people they mock Him
Without any fear
So many insults
For Him to hear

“Son of God! Come down,
IF that is true”
He cries “forgive them
They know not what they do”

Then He looks up to Heaven
With love in His eyes
“It is finished,” He whispers
And the Son of Man dies

I look up at Him
And giving a nod
I say “this Man
Was the true Son of God."