C. O. Kang

 

In the nightfall

Gethsemane Hill, looked tranquil of sweet slumbering

That spewed tremor through veil of pitchy wall

Sprit is willing, flesh is weak yielding

Pride, false of followers to the end, surge

Rudely scuttled down the hill on the verge

 

I love you Lord

I love you, till the end although others turn their back thus

I love you, you know me I do sealed

The rooster slashed each vow, one by one in three crows

I don’t know him, I don’t know what you’re talking about

I don’t know him, the three denials swearing, cursing shout

 

On the day

Pontius Pilate washed his hands, hushed

Declaring the accused innocent convey

His blood be on us and on our children, the multitude cried

Slaughtering flame of the clamour rocketed up the sky

The troubled road to Golgotha, truly long and awry

 

The standing cross on the hill utterly forlorn

INRI inscribed wholly miserable and shameful

The final curtain, cruel and pathetic of the claimed, Saviour worn

The way, truth and life seemed lost disdainful

Why have you forsaken me? It is finished

He beseeched then, departed

 

At the morn

The dawn, exhilaratingly bright, breaking the dusk

The Beam of life transforming from the shadow of death torn

The path to Emmaus so stirring and brisk

The gloomy, sad faces of the women walking fast and fret

To the empty tomb yet

 

Startlingly, glee and jubilee that priceless,

They saw the living Lord standing next to the stone rolled away

The very first witnesses

Ready to proclaim the news, hope of eternity relay

Their feet hurried for spreading out the Lord’s resurrection

At this, the most triumphant and glorious morn