A CROWD OF THE IGNOBLE
Ecce Homo! shouted I to the populace--
Behold the man who by me stood,
Behold him, a picture of absolute woe
Behold him, the man who replied
Only silence to persecution.
I wondered how grave a sin that 'twas committed he
To this much reproach incur
Too much that e'en sympathy found no place.
In their eyes I looked for it,
But I miserably ended up finding none.
They are shouting in grim unison:
Crucify Him! Crucify Him!
Beneath that uproar, this man stood
Unmoved by all this injustice,
Unmoved by this cruelty,
Unmoved by the dire fate
They desired to upon Him impose.
What was it that was upon His face?
Calm it remained, serene, with the bearing
That more befits a king.
After all, He is, or so He believes,
A king, only not of this world.
He stared at me, and as if
He were piercing, probing, fathoming
The very abyss of my ugly soul.
I turned to this dishonorable mob--
A crowd of the ignoble--
And asked them, Will you crucify your king?
But they answered back to me,
We a king do not have, save Caesar!
Rose the tumult and the din
That I was eventually overpowered.
My pleading, my conviction of His innocence,
My puny resolve was trampled
By their crooked judgment.
'Twixt this man, and a robber,
They the latter chose to free,
While this man, this man woebegone,
Was sealed to a doom most unjust.
And, wanting to cleanse myself
Of this eventual abomination,
I called for water and my hands I washed in it,
Showing it to them, declaring guilty I am not
Of the innocent blood to be shed.
Thus, with that, the bitter fate was sure
And from the gloating masses of hypocrites before me
Heard I this merciless reply:
Its sin be unto us,
E'en unto our children after us. . .