Naked and Alone, Hung the Son of God

Gruesome as a kill, 

Bent His bloodied form. 

Taunting passers-by 

Moved away in scorn. 

Furtive, ugly dogs 

Circled for His blood. 

Naked and alone, 

Hung the Son of God. 

 

Hated by His foes, 

Frightful to His friends; 

Torn by whip and thorns; 

Spit upon His head; 

Heinous pagan nails 

Pounded in each hand; 

Helpless, but resolved, 

Held the Son of Man. 

 

“I must drink the cup.” 

“God’s will must be done.” 

“This, His righteous plan; 

I, His blessed Son.” 

Anguished, longing eyes 

Besought the Father’s love; 

Then the Father looked, 

And crushed the Son of God. 

 

O magnify the Lamb 

Who bravely paid the price, 

And walked the path alone 

To brutal sacrifice. 

His work commands the praise 

Of all whose breath there be, 

And shouts the grace of God 

Into eternity. 

 

 

A contemplation on Psalm 22. 

Kevin Hartnett, June 2001 

 

 

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? 

Why are you so far from saving me, so far from the words of my groaning?...  

Do not be far from me, for trouble is near and there is no one to help. 

(Psalm 22:1,11)

 

I read someplace that the Jewish meter of lament was the meter of five syllables.  While I don't know Hebrew, and can't say whether this is correct or not, it gave me the idea for the meter of this poem - eight lines of five syllables.  The alert reader will notice that the final stanza is eight lines of six syllables.  To help the ear make the transition from the third stanza to the final one, I made the meter of the third stanza: 5-5-5-5-5-6-5-6.  I think the poetic thought of last stanza may be among my finest.