How dare the priest
Produce the least
Of primal pain,
Of slicing strain
On this, the Son
Of God, the One?
This slice of knife
Will mark for life
A Jewish male
Whose God won’t fail.
These drops of blood
Precede a flood.
Someday this child,
The Undefiled,
Will bleed again
To conquer sin
Will bleed and die
While lifted high
Such dreadful cost!
Upon a cross.
But now, just drops,
And bleeding stops.
