XII. Jesus Dies on the Cross

His limbs splayed, writhing, as he hung there,
Murmuring of a kingdom somewhere
The Roman guards had never been,

The sun beat on his darkened head.
He barely heard what the good thief said,
So swollen and plugged his ears were then.

“I thirst,” his mother heard him cry.
“Why have you left me here to die?”
But then, more lucid, “Here’s your son.”

He said that, looked from her to John,
Till they saw what was going on,
And all at once clouds hid the sun.

—James Matthew Wilson

Next
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE

JD Vance States the Obvious About Ordo Amoris

James Orr

We are living, it scarcely needs saying, in unpredictable times. But no one could have imagined that…

Thinking Twice About Re-Enchantment

Peter J. Leithart

Since the Enlightenment and the scientific revolution, the story goes, we’ve lived more and more in a…

The Bible Throughout the Ages

Mark Bauerlein

The latest installment of an ongoing interview series with contributing editor Mark Bauerlein. Bruce Gordon joins in…