He took His cross

as best he could

(cross-bearing was

so new to him).

How could he tell

the torturous load

of rough hewn wood

on that rutted road

where he was led,

would saw his shoulder

till it bled;

and then . . .

he fell.

 

Of all the curious,

crowding round,

who

stepping out, stooped down

to do

what Simon did

long years ago?

–but He, who

staggering beneath our cross,

fell, too.

 

From Sitting by My Laughing Fire by Ruth Bell Graham