Classic Poem

If you should pick me up a pulp of blood
and flesh splashed round the cockpit, and bones broken
give God the glory for this mangled token
which was a man and now reverts to mud.
I have been privileged a period
to leave the shores of darkness, I have woken
to see the sun and hear sweet language spoken
and mark the chiefest miracles of God.

God's son himself lived not so many years,
the day shed in his eyes no richer splendour
and in his heart he had more cause for tears.

In agony, reviled as an offender,
he died to hold a flock he would not render
to Caesar backed by priests and profiteers.