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

 

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!—