1 My shoulders ache beneath my pack
2 (Lie easier, Cross, upon His back).
3 I march with feet that burn and smart
4 (Tread, Holy Feet, upon my heart).
5 Men shout at me who may not speak
6 (They scourged Thy back and smote Thy cheek).
7 I may not lift a hand to clear
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem