On the black rose hill,
Where no warmth of morning hugs,
Love was brute;
With no cuddle for the mild.
The freely priceless love,
And compassion shown,
Was welcomed with rebukes,
The rebukes of stripes.
Without any lullaby,
No applauds or cheers,
Love showed hate;
With chants of crucify,
With blows and bruises,
Of shame and curses,
Mockery and laughs;
Laughs of scorn.
Without any words;
Calming words of affirmation,
Love bore cruelty;
She showed forth thorns,
Thorns as crown,
Trickles of vinegar,
Spits and slaps,
Strokes and ripping;
The ripping of death,
Death that was being swallowed.
With no feeling,
Feelings of compassion,
Love walked still;
She nailed him still,
She spilled the gall,
And dared to say;
Let us see,
See who would save,
From this grip,
The grip that bore freedom.
And as he looked,
At the bride he did love,
The same that pierced,
The same that sneered,
More love,
More love He poured.
From the wounds that bled,
That love was sealed.
Sealed with blood,
His stainless blood.
Hallelujah! This is beautiful