Although their blows knew no restraint,
Their countenances no control,
He bore their hate without complaint
That love might make their hunger whole.
The curses that had filled the night
Gave way to stifled sobs and wails,
While on that hill the infinite
Was held for half a day by nails.
He cried aloud in grief and pain;
The soldiers stopped awhile to stare,
Then turned their backs against the rain
And grubbed among his underwear.
First published in Outposts