Who is this, passing by wounded and poor? Who is this, wearing a crown of thorn? See the face, beautiful, bound to the root, While the hands, delicate, drag his load. For he is sinking fast and is his shame, See he is lying so still and plain, Yet must he struggle on falling again, Thrice is he stricken to earth by pain. Jesus, a gallant, restored and alone, Not yet forsaken by all I know, Lord, we will follow thee, suffering betrayed, Eager to stand where thy cross is laid. Tracing each drop of thy blood in the dust, Counting each wound where thy scourge was lost, Jesus, a gallant, restored and alone, Give us a share in thy crown of thorn.
