Poems (Ford)/Via Crucis
VIA CRUCIS.
Oh, Jerusalem, thou city
Of the Prophet-Saints of old,
How thy sight by sin is clouded,
And thy heart grown hard and cold;
O'er thee frown the heavens in anger,
Startled Nature holds her breath,
As thou leadest the Lord of glory
Out to torture and to death.
Of the Prophet-Saints of old,
How thy sight by sin is clouded,
And thy heart grown hard and cold;
O'er thee frown the heavens in anger,
Startled Nature holds her breath,
As thou leadest the Lord of glory
Out to torture and to death.
Hark! what hideous yells of triumph
Through the streets are echoed loud;
See the bound and bleeding Captive
Hurried onward by the crowd;
Grave and noble is His aspect,
Calm and mild His patient eye—
Of what crime can He be guilty
That they drag Him forth to die?
Through the streets are echoed loud;
See the bound and bleeding Captive
Hurried onward by the crowd;
Grave and noble is His aspect,
Calm and mild His patient eye—
Of what crime can He be guilty
That they drag Him forth to die?
Where He steps, the stony pavement
Blushes crimson. with His blood;
Faint and weak He staggers onward,
Bowed beneath the heavy wood;
See! His tottering footsteps falter;
See! He falls, too weak to rise;
While around Him like a tempest
Sweep the rabble's vengeful cries.
Blushes crimson. with His blood;
Faint and weak He staggers onward,
Bowed beneath the heavy wood;
See! His tottering footsteps falter;
See! He falls, too weak to rise;
While around Him like a tempest
Sweep the rabble's vengeful cries.
Vile hands force Him up, and closer
Press the thorns upon His head,
(He who healed their sick and dying,
And to life restored their dead;)
Bruised and gasping, almost blinded
By His blood, they drag Him still
'Neath Jerusalem's proud arches,
Up the steep and rugged hill.
Press the thorns upon His head,
(He who healed their sick and dying,
And to life restored their dead;)
Bruised and gasping, almost blinded
By His blood, they drag Him still
'Neath Jerusalem's proud arches,
Up the steep and rugged hill.
Blessed Saviour, though around Thee
There were few to mourn Thy woes,
Few who dared Thy steps to follow
'Mid Thy fierce and cruel foes,
Walking in Thy painful pathway,
Sharing all Thy pangs, was one—
Mary, Thy sad mother, weeping
For her loved and only Son.
There were few to mourn Thy woes,
Few who dared Thy steps to follow
'Mid Thy fierce and cruel foes,
Walking in Thy painful pathway,
Sharing all Thy pangs, was one—
Mary, Thy sad mother, weeping
For her loved and only Son.
Saddest of all mourning mothers,
May we feel thy bitter woe;
May our sinful hearts no longer
Cause our Saviour's blood to flow;
Pray that we like thee may ever
Love and serve thy holy Son,
And behold Him in His glory
When our pilgrimage is done.
May we feel thy bitter woe;
May our sinful hearts no longer
Cause our Saviour's blood to flow;
Pray that we like thee may ever
Love and serve thy holy Son,
And behold Him in His glory
When our pilgrimage is done.
Dearest Lord, when our weak footsteps
From the path of right would stray,
Shrinking from the painful trials
That beset life's rugged way,
May the memory of Thy sufferings
On the road to Calvary's hill
Guard our hearts against temptation,
Give us strength to do Thy will.
From the path of right would stray,
Shrinking from the painful trials
That beset life's rugged way,
May the memory of Thy sufferings
On the road to Calvary's hill
Guard our hearts against temptation,
Give us strength to do Thy will.
Teach us, Lord, that earthly pleasures
Are at best but gilded dross,
That the only way to glory
Is the pathway of the Cross:
Holy, sanctified forever
Be the road that Thou hast trod,
Hallowed by Thy blood-stained footprints,
Our Redeemer and our God.
Are at best but gilded dross,
That the only way to glory
Is the pathway of the Cross:
Holy, sanctified forever
Be the road that Thou hast trod,
Hallowed by Thy blood-stained footprints,
Our Redeemer and our God.