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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=428637" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Good Friday, A.D. 33</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=428637" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Mother, why are people crowding now and staring?<br>Child, it is a malefactor goes to His doom,<br>To the high hill of Calvary He's faring,<br>And the people pressing and pushing to make room<br>Lest they miss the sight to come.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=428637" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Oh, the poor malefactor, heavy is His load!<br>Now He falls beneath it and they goad Him on.<br>Sure the road to Calvary's a steep up-hill road --<br>Is there none to help Him with His Cross -- not one?<br>Must He bear it all alone?</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=428637" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Here is a country boy with business in the city,<br>Smelling of the cattle's breath and the sweet hay;<br>Now they bid him lift the Cross, so they have some pity:<br>Child, they fear the malefactor dies on the way<br>And robs them of their play.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=428637" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Has He no friends then, no father nor mother,<br>None to wipe the sweat away nor pity His fate?<br>There's a woman weeping and there's none to soothe her:<br>Child, it is well the seducer expiate<br>His crimes that are so great.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=428637" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Mother, did I dream He once bent above me,<br>This poor seducer with the thorn-crowned head,<br>His hands on my hair and His eyes seemed to love me?<br>Suffer little children to come to Me, He said --<br>His hair, his brows drip red.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=428637" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Hurrying through Jerusalem on business or pleasure<br>People hardly pause to see Him go to His death<br>Whom they held five days ago more than a King's treasure,<br>Shouting Hosannas, flinging many a wreath<br>For this Jesus of Nazareth.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Katharine+Tynan">Katharine Tynan</a></strong></div>

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