Though His priestly robe was a mantle of scorn
And His kingly crown was a platted thorn,
Yet He healed the world's sad heart.
And His kingly crown was a platted thorn,
Yet He healed the world's sad heart.
FOR HE WAS MARY'S SON
(GOOD FRIDAY)
IT was the Mary-part of him that prayed
Beneath the garden's midnight sky
That it might be the Father's holy will
The death-drugged cup should pass him by—
Beneath the garden's midnight sky
That it might be the Father's holy will
The death-drugged cup should pass him by—
The mother-heritage, the earthly trait
So sweet and yet so prone to err;
For he was half her child, this suppliant,
Born of the blood and bone of her.
So sweet and yet so prone to err;
For he was half her child, this suppliant,
Born of the blood and bone of her.
Had he been all divine, the dreaded cup
He would have quaffed and made no sign.
Nay, more; the draught had had no bitter taste
Had he been all divine—
He would have quaffed and made no sign.
Nay, more; the draught had had no bitter taste
Had he been all divine—
Had he been wholly God he had not feared
E'en for a breath the stern decree
That wrung from him the crucifixion cry:
"Eloi, lama sabachthani!"
E'en for a breath the stern decree
That wrung from him the crucifixion cry:
"Eloi, lama sabachthani!"
But he was Mary's child as well as God's;
'Twas she who dowered him with the strain
That taught him kinship with an aching heart,
Yet made him coward at the thought of pain.
'Twas she who dowered him with the strain
That taught him kinship with an aching heart,
Yet made him coward at the thought of pain.
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