Day 25: Saturday
Behold, they spit on me in scornful wise, Who by my spittle gave the blind man eyes, Leaving his blindness to my enemies: Was ever grief like mine?
My face they cover, thought it be divine. As Moses face was veiled, so is mine, Lest on their double-dark souls either shine: Was ever grief like mine?
Servants and cast offs mock me; they are witty: Now prophesy who strikes thee, is their ditty. So they in me deny themselves all pity: Was ever grief like mine?
And now I am delivered unto death, Which each one calls for so with utmost breath, That he before me well nigh suffereth: Was ever grief like mine?
Weep not, dear friends, since I for both have wept When all my tears were blood, the while you slept: Your tears for your own fortunes should be kept: Was ever grief like mine?
The soldiers lead me to the Common Hall; There they deride me, they abuse me all: Yet for twelve heavenly legions I could call: Was ever grief like mine?
Then with a scarlet robe they me array; Which shows my blood to be the only way And cordial left to repair man's decay: Was ever grief like mine?
Then on my head a crown of thorns I wear: For these are all the grapes Zion does bear, Though I my vine planted and watered there: Was ever grief like mine?
So sits the earth’s great curse in Adam’s fall Upon my head: so I remove it all From th’ earth unto my brows, and bear the thrall: Was ever grief like mine?
Then with the reed they gave to me before, They strike my head, the rock from thence all store Of heavenly blessings issue evermore: Was ever grief like mine?
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