D’you think it strange—with such a dreary job,

(To supervise another crucifixion,

To see the hardest men break down and sob,

And not to care if it is truth or fiction

They utter, when with dying men’s conviction

They still maintain they have done nothing wrong)

And being ignorant of the prediction

King David made in sure prophetic song,

(Though all the Jews had studied it so long,)

Yet when it was fulfilled before our eyes,

By grace I knew it, and my faith grew strong

While they mocked on beneath the darkening skies—

    D’you think it strange that I am at a loss,

    Knowing the Man I put upon the Cross?