Good Friday

Take up your cross and walk with Me this mile;
or (now I ask) walk two, not one alone.
And bring your coat that I may have its loan,
not to console My beaten back that’s vile
and raw, but so I’ll have a friend to smile
and cheer My Passion’s progress. Spread it down
like Sunday last: at least you’ll show this crown
is royal (if I’m your King, then death’s worthwhile).
And then, when I am lifted up, behold,
to you that followed, loyal and devout,
I, reigning from the Tree, will tell it out -
Your scarlet sins have turned not white but gold!
There setting down my cross, coat, Friend, I ran
and said of Him, ‘I do not know the man.’

(c) Mark Woodruff, 30 November 1996