The Jews accuse Me with despitefulness;
And vying malice with My gentleness,
Pick quarrels with their only happiness:

Was ever grief like Mine?

I answer nothing, but with patience prove
If stony hearts will melt with gentle love.
But who does hawk at eagles with a dove?
Was ever grief like Mine?

My silence rather doth augment their cry;
My Dove doth back into My bosom fly,
Because the raging waters still are high:

Was ever grief like Mine?

Hark how they cry aloud still, Crucify.
It is not fit He live a day, they cry.
Who cannot live less than eternally.

Was ever grief like Mine?

Pilate, a stranger, holdeth off; but they,
Mine own dear people, cry, Away, away,
With noises confused frighting the day.

Was ever grief like Mine?

Yet still they shout, and cry, and stop their ears,
Putting My life among their sins and fears,
And therefore wish My blood on them and theirs.
Was ever grief like Mine?

See how spite cankers things. These words aright Used, and wished, are the whole world's delight: But honey is their gall, brightness their night:

Was ever grief like Mine?

They choose a murderer, and all agree

In him to do themselves a courtesy ;

For it was their own cause who killed Me:

Was ever grief like Mine?

And a seditious murderer he was:

But I the Prince of peace; peace that doth pass All understanding, more than heaven doth glass: Was ever grief like Mine?

Why, Cæsar is their only King, not I:
He clave the stony rock, when they were dry;
But surely not their hearts, as I well try:
Was ever grief like Mine?

Ah, how they scourge Me! yet My tenderness Doubles each lash. and yet their bitterness Winds up My grief to a mysteriousness:

Was ever grief like Mine?

They buffet Me, and box Me as they list,
Who grasp the earth and heaven with My fist,
And never yet, whom I would punish, missed:
Was ever grief like Mine?

Behold, they spit on Me in scornful wise;
Who by My spittle gave the blind man eyes,
Leaving his blindness to Mine enemies:

Was ever grief like Mine?

My face they cover, though it be divine.
As Moses' face was veiled, so is Mine,

Lest on their double-dark souls either shine:

Was ever grief like Mine?

Servants and abjects flout Me; they are witty:
Now prophesy who strikes Thee! is their ditty.
So they, in Me, deny themselves all pity·

Was ever grief like Mine?

And now I am delivered unto death,

Which each one calls for so with utmost breath,
That he before Me well-nigh suffereth:

Was ever grief like Mine?

Weep not, dear friends, since I for both have wept, When all My tears were blood, the while you slept: Your tears for your own fortunes should be kept: Was ever grief like Mine?

The soldiers lead Me to the common hall;
There they deride Me, they abuse Me all:
Yet for twelve heavenly legions I could call:
Was ever grief like Mine?

Then with a scarlet robe they Me array;
Which shews My blood to be the only way,
And cordial left to repair man's decay:

Was ever grief like Mine?

Then on My head a crown of thorns I wear;
For these are all the grapes Sion doth bear,
Though I My vine planted and watered there:
Was ever grief like Mine?

So sits the earth's great curse in Adam's fall
Upon My head: so I remove it all

From the earth unto My brows, and bear the thrall:
Was ever grief like Mine?

Then with the reed they gave to Me before,
They strike My head, the Rock from whence all store
Of heavenly blessings issue evermore:

Was ever grief like Mine?

They bow their knees to Me, and cry, Hail, King:
Whatever scoffs or scornfulness can bring,

I am the floor, the sink, where they it fling:
Was ever grief like Mine?

Yet since man's sceptres are as frail as reeds, And thorny all their crowns, bloody their weeds; I, who am Truth, turn into truth their deeds: Was ever grief like Mine?

The soldiers also spit upon that face
Which angels did desire to have the grace,
And prophets once to see, but found no place:
Was ever grief like Mine?

Thus trimmed forth they bring Me to the rout, Who Crucify Him, cry with one strong shout. God holds His peace at man, and man cries out: Was ever grief like Mine?

They lead Me in once more, and putting then
My own clothes on, they lead Me out again.
Whom devils fly, thus is He tossed of men:
Was ever grief like Mine?

And now weary of sport, glad to engross
All spite in one, counting My life their loss,
They carry me to My most bitter cross:

Was ever grief like Mine?

My cross I bear Myself, until I faint:
Then Simon bears it for Me by constraint,
The decreed burden of each mortal Saint:

Was ever grief like Mine ?

O all ye who pass by, behold and see:
Man stole the fruit, but I must climb the tree;
The tree of life to all, but only Me:

Was ever grief like Mine?

Lo, here I hang, charged with a world of sin,
The greater world o' the two; for that came in
By words, but this by sorrow I must win:

Was ever grief like Mine?

Such sorrow, as if sinful man could feel,
Or feel his part, he would not cease to kneel,
Till all were melted, though he were all steel.
Was ever grief like Mine?

But, O My God, My God! why leav'st Thou Me,
The Son, in Whom Thou dost delight to be?
My God, My God-

Never was grief like Mine.

Shame tears My soul, My body many a wound ; Sharp nails pierce this, but sharper that confound; Reproaches, which are free, while I am bound : Was ever grief like Mine?

Now heal Thyself, Physician; now come down.
Alas! I did so, when I left My crown

And Father's smile for you, to feel His frown :

Was ever grief like Mine?