Did the Holy Lamb of God,

Really die on that wooden cross?

Did His tears and his precious gore,

Truly feed the blood-red rose?

 

And was his cry, “Eloi! Eloi!”

For me? For them? For you?

Did He scream his words to God,

When the sky stripped its azure hue?

 

What then of love? What then of life?

What meaning air and breath?

If all that remains here and now,

Is lost with His Death?