Classic Poem

The following fragment of a longer poem, written on the trial and death of Jesus, is preserved in manuscript on loose pages. The first part of the poem and also the tenth stanza are missing. It cannot be said whether there were additional stanzas written or not.
Eight o'clock

Dressed in white, Thou comest now
To Pilate once again,
For nothing 'gainst Thee can be found
Save only my own guilt of sins

Nine o'clock

Wicked men are scourging Thee,
But the guilt I must confess
And in justice I should suffer
What the mad heathen do to Thee.

Ten o'clock

The crown of thorns must Jesus wear,
The purple robe, the jeers and scorn,
All for me unworthy sinner,
And in addition He is beaten.

Eleven o'clock

" What a man, " now Pilate says,
Innocence shines from out His face,
You can point to nothing evil,
Well he preaches through His silence!

Now I wash my hands of this
Publicly before you all,
If you intend to continue it
I shall remain without guilt.

Twelve o'clock.

Upon the cross is Jesus laid,
His hands and feet are cruelly pierced
And with nails He is made fast,
Quite enfeebled His cross is raised.

One o'clock

Jesus' slayers now proceed
To part His garments 'mong themselves,
It is decided by casting lots
Which of them shall have His coat

Three o'clock in the afternoon.
Now that all should be fulfilled
Which the Scriptures have foretold,
And that they might quench His thirst
They have a sponge filled with vinegar.

And the precious Lamb of God
Drinks it on the cross's beam,
Bows His head and suffers death
So that mercy I can receive.

Four o'clock in the evening.
Now the blood and flow of water
Issue forth as God advised
And the wound in His dear side
Comforts greatly my poor soul.

Five o'clock in the evening.
Who will bury the Lord's body?
Joseph will with heart of love;
Love no more shall be dishonored
When no more a Judas lives.