There is a man about to die,
Sobbing in a garden as the hour draws nigh.
Kneeling against a friendly stone,
He prays there all alone.
And each teardrop is a crystal ball
That slides to the rock and falls,
Reflecting all of eternity’s fears
In the passion of one man’s tears.
In one crystal are three friends sleeping,
Wearied by the vigil they were keeping;
In another, Judas, counting his gold;
And Peter, the rock, brave and bold,
Lowers his head in shame
And denies his Master’s name.
Pilate washes his hands,
As the King of kings he damns;
Mocking soldiers, crosses, thieves,
A mother cries, a disciple grieves;
A palace, great and lavish,
Displays its gold, scorns the fish,
Abandons the poor in its greedy search,
And calls itself the Church;
Eager youth with spear in hand
Rides out to save the Holy Land,
Gallant, brave, brandishing his sword,
He fights the Turks in the name of the Lord;
Virginia family fills the pew,
Worshiping God as they always do,
While at home a black man weeps, works where he’s told,
And mourns his children, just yesterday sold;
Protestant draws a line through town
And if Catholic crosses, guns him down,
Mounting raids, burning shops, killing each other,
Their island too small for these Christian brothers;
Hundreds of tears, thousands of tears -
Shed for every person in all the coming years -
Roll down the cheeks of this weary, lonely man,
Kneeling brokenhearted in the garden in the sand.And now, tried, condemned, abandoned, alone,
Bearing his cross without a groan,
Climbing the rocky road,
Stumbling under the heavy load.
Then, nails in His hands, nails in His feet,
Humiliated in the noontime heat,
A cross silhouetted against the sky,
A man is about to die.
And his tears falling in profusion
Go unheeded in the confusion,
But it is not for himself the man is crying,
Instead for us alive, whose hearts are dying.
Photo credit: Jo-B on pixabay