Son of God? In truth I was left uneasy,
Wishing it more thought than said. In its place
I revelled in Son of Man: this did keep
My followers entranced but gave less space
To those who sought my ruin. God made queasy
The mind so wrapped in faith it longed for sleep.
Time proved me wise. The High Priest asked me straight
Was I the Son of God, and though I tried
(Lord help me) to equivocate, they’d found
The hint of blasphemy so long denied.
What need we further witnesses – the gate
Of reason collapsed as I hit the ground…
Even the servants beat me. Prophesy!
Who is’t that smote thee? What would they have said
If I had answered, He that denies me
As we speak, e’en as slaves dare touch my head.
He that first used the killing phrase doth lie –
Three times to your Godforsaken spies he
Curses and shrugs; think ye I even feel
Your clumsy buffets? I would laugh to scorn
Each one of you, were mockery the aim
Of He who means to drive this final morn
To the bitterest end, and then to steal
First thunder, then the scene, and last – His Name.