What suffering, what beauty
Is on the Savior’s brow
The thorns that grew in tended soil
Grow pain and sorrow now

The flowering vine once flourished, blessed
Makes red the lovely face
That wept in longing for his beloved
And now stands in her place

What beauty, what suffering
Was only his to bear
Embracing there the cost of love
No other soul could share

The gathering arms that ever reach
to circle all his own
Hold tightly to a wooden beam
From earth so freshly grown

What suffering, what beauty
What joy he bleeds to claim
No one can take, he freely gives
Ignoring earthly shame

He sees ahead the gathering prize
The offspring of his love
The flowering of immortal hearts
That rise with him above

Brian R Scott, 2020