Belial heaps my spur’d pyre high,
One log for each defile;
As up my wooden mound I fly,
Dim draws life’s sundial.
Deep into flesh sin’s splinters cut;
By brow’s sweat, sinews sting.
The carnal pipes of my heart smut,
“Behold, behold your king!”
Olden ramparts howl as I scale
This unremitting mount,
Bemoan their shameful censure wail,
Accuser girds his ‘count:
“Fain, wanton sloth of haughty huff,”
The prosecution fling
As to the apex I am scruffed,
“Behold, behold your king!”
Quaking rolls burst through reddened vault,
A blinding light rains down;
Before blade’s plunge comes booming, “Halt!”
Forth plod the barbed crown.
And from my eyes flay scaly cloak,
The snake shall no more cling.
As sneering Roman legion croak,
“Behold, behold your King!”
Near place of skull trails Paschal Lamb,
His dipped head bearing shame.
For loss of words, the critic damns;
Christ plunges with all blame.
‘Neath fraught tree weep His chosen faint
As hammer and nail ping;
Up skyward drapes the prefect’s plaint:
“Behold, behold your King!”
Atop the hellish pyre’s blaze
I Am stands, wroth war won;
The gnashing cannot even graze,
It can consume Him none.
And now He’s ris’n in heav’nly flight
While all His ransomed sing,
“The Holy Cross shall be our light;
Behold, behold your King!”
