THE CUP
Like a shroud 'round the cup
Clung the mantle of night;
Like the thorns in the crown
Were the dregs he must sup.
Like the sweat on His face
Clung the sins of mankind;
Like the gall on the sponge
Was the traitor's embrace.
Like the staves in their hands
Was the spear in His side;
Like the robe of a King
Was the mockery of man.
Like the stench in the grave
Was the cry of the throng;
He finished the cup -
For the price of a slave.
-Elizabeth Wallace Morehead-
Copyright owned by the
Wallace and Morehead
families.
Created with the CoffeeCup HTML Editor