The soldiers led him away inside the palace, that is, the praetorium, and assembled the whole cohort. They clothed him in purple and, weaving a crown of thorns, placed it on him. They began to salute him with, “Hail, King of the Jews!” and kept striking his head with a reed and spitting upon him. They knelt before him in homage. And when they had mocked him, they stripped him of the purple cloak, dressed him in his own clothes, and led him out to crucify him. -Mark 15:16-20
Come three o’clock, I lose myself in thoughts
Of Him who loves, though love be unreturned;
Of Cross and whip, and now a drink that’s sought;
Of dying God, of mercy taught (and learned).
The minutes pass, and as I think of Him,
Of one thing only certain can I be—
I know His care to be far more than whim:
The sole, unchanging Truth of life is He.
Whatever holds this day, for good or ill,
Whatever time may bring, or sweep away,
Though oceans may retreat, He’ll love me still,
And when I die, I’m promised His to stay.
What power now has death? What taunts? What sting?
He’s conquered all the terror it may bring.