On a low hill 'neath the weight of April skies,
In the soft red glow of a sun that dies
Stands a cross . . . and another son,
Another son and a lonely one;
Not lonely in body for all around
Are soldiers, mourners and the sound
Of other crosses and loneliness,
The loneliness that these possess.

Their solitude is that of death,
When even a crowd is a void
And a lonely spirit draws a lonely breath;
And, shut with pain, two lonely eyes pray,
Pray as the light of a lonely day,
Dies with that spirit.

But these are eyes that hold no tears
And others, frightened, hold the fears,
The fears of twelve, by now eleven,
Straining for God, straining for Heaven;
And the tears are those of a crying mother;
Shattered, stooping, a lonely brother,
Mutters a silent prayer.  No thought
Is given of what this cross has bought,
And how much is the price.

A merry din dispels the night;
The click of dice,
A friendly fight,
And a shout,
"I've won!    The cloak is mine",
And a look at the cross,
"Well, isn't this fine?
A Crown for the King, for the 'King of the Jews'!
Who now would be in 'His Lordship's' shoes?"

Darkness falls and the first painful tear
Strains from His eyes, for the end is near;
And the chill of Death grips hard His heart;
With the agony of solitude the cracked lips part.
And then ...
And then to the shame of all who heard,
Who appeared so base beneath His word,
Forgiveness came . . .
Forgiveness came with tortured breath,
With soft relieving sweetness
Came with Death.

On a low hill bowed 'neath the weight of April skies,
In the soft red glow of a sun that dies
Stands no cross . . . but the Church.

ANON.