Uploaded on April 6, 2012
Look on your Lord, Man, hanging on the Rood,
And weep, if you can weep, tears all of blood.
For see how his head is hurt with thorn,
His face and spear-wound spat on in scorn.
Pale grows his fair cheek, and darker his sight,
Now droops on the Cross his body bright,
His naked breast glistens, now bleeds his side,
And stiff grow his arms extended wide.
Look at the nails in hands and in feet,
And the flowing streams of his blood so sweet!
Begin at the crown and search to the toe,
Nothing shall you find there but anguish and woe.
—Penguin Classics’ Medieval English Verse
translated by Brian Stone
04.06. 2024: Since everything has changed, I need to simply leave this here with no other comment.