Poems (Ford)/Ecce Homo

ECCE HOMO.

"Ecce Homo!" Rome's proud ruler
O'er Judea's fallen land
Thus addressed the Jewish rabble,
Pointing with his sceptred hand
Where the Saviour, meek and lowly,
Calm and uncomplaining stood,
While the mob, by fury blinded,
Loudly clamored for his blood.

Ecce Homo! At the pillar,
Scourged by Pilate's stern command,
Those He loved and blessed and toiled for,
Void of pity, round Him stand;
No complaining sound escapes Him,
Neither murmurs, groans, nor sighs,
But a world of bitter anguish
Looks from His forgiving eyes.

Ecce Homo! Robed in purple,
By His blood more deeply dyed;
Crowned with thorns, a reed His sceptre,
While the cruel Jews deride;
Bound and blindfold, thus they smite Him,
In mock-homage bending low,
Saying, "Tell us, King of Israel,
Who is he that struck the blow?"

Ecce Homo! Mark how mildly
Bears He threat and scoff and blow,
While the tears of Israel's daughters
For His wrongs in torrents flow;
See the crimson drops outgushing
O'er His sacred temples fall,
While the crowd, untouched by pity,
For His death more loudly call.

Ecce Homo! Aye, behold Him,
See His look of silent woe,
As the past and future ages
Out before His vision go,
As He sees what countless numbers
Cast aside the cross and crown,—
Sees His life-bloed, shed to save them,
Trod by pride and passion down.

Ecce Homo! We behold Him
Bruised and bleeding, faint and lone,
Chosen friends and loved disciples
In the hour of trial gone;
Through thy streets, O fated Zion,
Fiercer shouts of vengeance ring,
Lord of all, by all forsaken,
Earth disowns and slays her King.

Ecce Homo! Lord of glory,
We behold Thee scorned, reviled;
May thy sadly mournful story
Make us humble, patient, mild;
Bind our hearts to Thee forever,
That we may earth's pomps lay down,
And at last in endless glory
See Thee wear Thy thornless crown.