Poem


He bore our griefs

No, it was not the Jews who crucified,
Nor who betrayed you in the judgment place,
Nor who, Lord Jesus, spat into your face,
Nor who with buffets struck you as you died.

No, it was not the soldiers fisted bold
Who lifted up the hammer and the nail,
Or raised the cursed cross on Calvary’s hill,
Or, gambling, tossed the dice to win your robe.

I am the one, O Lord, who brought you there,
I am the heavy cross you had to bear,
I am the rope that bound you to the tree,

The whip, the nail, the hammer, and the spear,
The blood-stained crown of thorns you had to wear:
It was my sin, alas, it was for me. 

Jacob Revius (1630), translation Henrietta ten Harmsel (1968)

 

From: Henrietta ten Harmsel, Jacobus Revius, Dutch metaphysical poet, Grand Rapids, 1968.

The original poem can be viewed here, along with other poems of Revius.