In dungeon dark, in silence still,
He’s kept in custody.
Abandoned to his Father’s will,
He turns and looks at me.
His face all bathed in spit and sweat
And bruised from brutal blows,
His eyes with grief and tears beset,
And from his lips blood flows.
His cup is filled unto the brim
Throughout this night of pain.
No words have I to comfort him,
So simply I remain.
Ineffable his suffering,
By love the Lamb is bound
To free the sheep from wandering
And let itself be found.
Awaiting trial patiently,
Until the break of morn,
When he’ll be hailed in mockery
And crowned with cruel thorn,
Condemned to die upon a tree,
For all these sins of mine.
O may I not abandon Thee,
The Prisoner Divine.
—Fr. Timothy J. Draper
Featured Image: Philippe de Champaigne, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
