I saw him stumble into the room,
his body beaten, his eyes weary.
The crowd of men were mocking him,
I studied them, staying leery.
I swallowed as I took in the scene,
I knew he knew what would be said.
my friend and teacher would be dead.
After the dreadful sentence came,
said I, “What good will this bring?
Stop it all,” Pleaded I to my friend.
His words were soft, “That would accomplish nothing.”
I saw him stumble up the street,
His accusers yelling their attack.
The sweat dripped off his bent body,
as he carried the cross on his back.
I cringed as they nailed each nail precise,
to make certain he suffered before he died.
His eyes searched over the crowd that had gathered.
His followers and I, oh, how we cried.
At his feet I asked him my question again,
Said I, “What good will this bring?
Stop it all,” pleaded I to my friend.
His words were firm, “That would accomplish nothing.”
I never forgot my friend,
and spent my life teaching
the words my friend had taught
and left this world preaching.
There was a lot of work to do,
and I was sad to have to go.
But there on His everlasting throne,
was my friend who I had known,
And now I finally understood.
“Thank you,” said I on bent knee to the King,
“your suffering has brought me home.”
His words triumphant, “That accomplished everything.”