The Third Station of the Cross

Weak and tired I fall on rough cobbled stones. Blood oozed down my face across my cheekbones. My knees are bruised and pain spreads from my brain, The wooden bar hurt my back again. Man must learn as I accept my bad fall. The time must come for you to confess all. I fall but sinless I still bear your sins, Get up, repent and a new life begins. Still, I suffer as lashes hit my back, For soldiers hate and like a wolfish pack They just wish me to arrive up on the hill Whilst Pharisaic zealots curse me ill. Yet I speak not one sole word nor complain. I suffer pain and pray all are not in vain. Sturdy hands roughly urge and lift me up. Gives me my cross, and I drink my bitter cup. I came to save humanity from hell, That I might see you all in Heaven dwell. Haltingly I trudge on the cobbled rocks, Die on a cross. O happy paradox.