“Rejoice, rejoice! You’re sanctified!
For God on earth was crucified!
He just breathed out his final breath,
Rejoice, rejoice, and fear not death!”

How can I rejoice at the suffering of God?
Such joy seems like Marquis de Sade’s.
Is this news joyous, yes it is!
He took my shame,
He took my pain,
Great for my life, but what for His?

Mine was the guilt, yet He is dead.
My punishment fell on His head.
Can I rejoice at his pain and woe?
Shall I sing while his life-blood flows?

No, not in pain, rejoice at love,
For that is what our hope’s made of.
Not only by blood were we forgiven,
Love bore our shame,
And willingly our pain,
So God’s death for grace was driven.

Thus I rejoice. I’m sanctified!
For love our Lord laid down and died.
And for that truth I’ll joyous be,
because my Lord rejoiced for me.


Simon of Cyrene

He stumbles and tumbles there, in the mud,
His face is bruised and smeared with blood.
His cross lands hard across his back,
I wince to hear his bones thus crack.

A violent hand then seized my arm.
“Come, black dog, or feel some harm,
Lift up that cross and bear a part!”
Thus forced, I do, indignant, start.

But as I stoop, His eyes meet mine,
They’re filled with only love divine.
“Oh, my beloved, please bear my tree,
So I might make on high the Three.
Behind me hide, in judgment’s lee,
For I will take it all for thee.”

Aye, gladly, Lord, when you go home,
I’ll bear your cross from here to Rome.