Seventh Station
Good Friday
I can see Him now, coming up this way,
Murmuring words no man can say.
Worming his way along the path,
He trusted all, all for their worth
Broken, bleeding, he heard their pleading
A mother in love, a Father above,
Spittle flying, Love is dying.
I hear crying.
O My Lord.
See Him bearing, loving, sharing,
Falling, stalling, sighing, rising.
Matthew B. Rose
