“Was Ever Grief Like Mine?”
A powerful poem from George Herbert, imagining the contemplations of Jesus on this Good Friday.
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?
