Songs of the Slav
Thou wouldst proclaim the coming kingdom of
Heaven to the weak, wretched. Thou wouldst bestow
Imperishable gifts upon clean hearts.
Thou wouldst show humble souls the way into
Thy Father’s glory and erase the curse
Of Adam from each generation's brow!
Thou didst go to Thy death quiet, resigned,
Just as the lamb that openest not its mouth.
Thou pourest out Thy blood even like the dew
To moisten Thy young and early sprouting seed.
Jesus of Nazareth, behold the throngs
That surge continually about Thy cross!
Not long ago, when Thou didst enter in
The city in triumph, they strewed palms 'neath
Thy colt, cried praises unto Thee, and then
Proclaimed Thee David's son. For they thought 'mongst
Themselves the kingdom of God was at hand,
The cherished time of milk and honey was
Now come. And then Thou didst refuse again.
The disappointed throngs next in anger
Cried, "Crucify Him!" into Pilate's ears.
And now they come and wag their heads and say:
Here the king of the Jews is crucified.
Let Him save Himself. He would be the Son
Of God. But God seems to forsake Him now.
And God forsook.
34
