He came to rest in riot’s realm,
and finished, very good.
Robing earth, covered blood,
the altar, sodden wood.
Thorns and thistles cursed for man,
He bore, a royal crown.
Wine was heaved before the Priest,
the Vine true wine bled down.
The stars looked down, averting eyes,
darked heaven with their wings.
The land threw open all its graves,
the sea set forth its springs.
Heaven silent; Lamb declared.
True Victim suffering.
Light poured forth from image and sod
the Way was made to God.