Stations Poem by Deborah Downes

He walked along the garden path
Cloaked in silent beauty
And His soul screamed out in agony
As He struggled with His duty.

Too soon would time arrest Him
And assault His mortal bones
Stripping Him of dignity
To leave Him so alone.

He stood before the judges
Who questioned what He taught
Jeered by crowds of skeptics
For the miracles He wrought.

Soldiers cruelly flogged Him
With both words and leaded lash
Till His wounds were sorely bloodied
And His Spirit nearly dashed.

With razored thorns they crowned Him
Pressed roughly to His head
To mock his royal status
Yet not a word He said.

Upon His back they laid a cross
That no mere man could bear
Weighted by a world of sin
No more could one man care!

Every step toward Calvary
Was afflicted with such pain.
Though each was taken willingly
To mankind’s greatest gain.

Along the way was little solace
His mother’s tears, most anguished
A woman’s veil, the Cyrene’s hands
His pangs could not extinguish.

At last He reached the journey’s end
But relief was not to be
His hands and feet they did impale
To hang Him from that tree.

His death laid shadow ‘cross the sky
The ground beneath was shaken
At last they knew God’s only Son
Was the one whose life was taken.

They thought that death had conquered Him
That His flesh would turn to dust
And His memory would fade away
While His flock would lose their trust.

But the Son fulfilled God’s promise
His temple twice erected
Against all human logic
His life was resurrected.

On that Blessed Sunday
Men born in any age
Could now accept salvation
And be freed from sin’s outrage.

For all, and for eternity
He duly paid the cost
Which guilt and sin does yet incur
So no soul need be lost!