Behold the Man
- Paul
- 2 hours ago
- 1 min read
A hush upon the courtyard fell,
The sky grew dim, the silence tense,
As Pilate led the Christ outside—
A King draped in a mock pretense.
A crown of thorns upon His brow,
A robe of purple, torn and worn,
Yet in His eyes, a deeper fire—
A love unmoved by hate or scorn.
"Behold the Man!" the ruler spoke,
As if the truth broke through his lips,
A sinless soul, a silent Lamb,
Whose hands would bear the judgment’s grip.
But voices rose like bitter winds,
From hearts grown cold with prideful rage,
“Crucify!” the cry became,
Their fury trembling on the page.
And still He stood—so marred, so still—
The blood upon His holy face,
The very breath of God in flesh,
Despised, yet full of truth and grace.
No fault, the ruler could declare,
Yet justice bowed to worldly fear.
And Love, condemned by human hands,
Walked on, to make salvation near.