Page:Anthology of Modern Slavonic Literature in Prose and Verse by Paul Selver.djvu/279

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You went to preach the coming realm of heaven Unto the poor, the weak. To stainless hearts You offered treasures of undwindling worth. To simple souls you sought to show the way Unto the father's glory. From men's brows You strove to cleanse the trace of Adam's curse.

You turned to death with calm abandonment, Like to the lamb, that opens not its mouth, And you have shed your blood as it were dew, So that your new-sown grain might not be parched.

Jesus of Nazareth, behold these throngs, That surge like billows round about your cross! 'Tis not long since, when glorified you rode Into the town, they littered palms beneath Your ass-colt's hoofs, and they cried unto you Your glory, and proclaimed you David's son, For they supposed, that now the realm of God Was heralded, and this the longed-for time Of milk and honey. But you flouted it. The cozened throngs then in the wrath of vengeance Dinned "Crucify!" into the ears of Pilate. And here they loiter, wagging with their heads And jeering: Yonder hangs the King of the Jews! Find he his own help,—he's the Son of God. His Father hath, forsooth, forgotten him!—