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'Christ on the Cross' -woodcarving.- Michelangelo. . Venice, St Giorgio Maggiore.
THE CROSS
SPEAKS
(ANONYMOUS)
It was long ago, I yet remember,
that I was hewn down, at the wood’s end
torn from my place. They took me there, strong foes,
they set me up as a gazing stock, bade me lift on high their
felons.
Men bore me on their shoulders, till on a hill they set me,
many foes fastened me there. Then I saw mankind’s Lord
swiftly come with courage, for He willed to mount on me.
Then dared I not, against the Lord’s word,
bend or break, when I saw
the earth trembling. I might there
have felled all my foes, but I stood fast.
Then he stripped Himself, the young Hero, that was God
Almighty,
strong and firm hearted He mounted the mean gibbet;
noble hearted in the sight of many He would set free mankind.
I shook when the Prince clasped me, but I durst not bow to
earth,
fall to the ground, but needs stand fast.
A rood I was raised aloft, I lifted the mighty King,
Lord of Heaven, I durst not bend.
They drove me through with dark nails, on me the marks are
plain,
wide wounds of hate. I durst not harm any of them.
They mocked us both together. I was all wet with blood
poured from the Man’s side when He had sent forth His soul.
There on the hill I underwent
many bitter things, I saw the God of Hosts
sorely stretched out. Darkness there
had wrapped in clouds the Ruler’s Body,
in fair radiance. A shadow went forth
wan under clouds. All creation wept,
bewailed the |King/s death, Christ on the rood.
But there came from afar eager nobles
to Him all alone; I beheld that.
Sore was I troubled with sorrows, but I bent down to
the hands
of the men
humbly, with hearty will. There they took Almighty God,
lifted Him down from the heavy pain. They left me standing
wet with blood; I was all wounded with shafts.
They laid Him down, limb-weary; they stood at His body’s head;
they gazed on Him, Heaven’s Lord, and he rested there awhile,
tired from the great strife. They began to make His grave
in the sight of His foes. They carved it from the bright stone.
They laid in it the Lord of Hosts. They began to sing a sorrow-
Song
alone in the evening tide. Then they went away,
weary away from the great crowd. With a few He rested there.
(From the Dream of the Rood, early eighth century.)
