Song for Passiontide - concerning our inhumanity

The Rose and His Tree


Here where you bloom and die,
This is not Jesse’s tree;
This cruel branch and bough
We made ourselves just for thee.
Your royal blood meant nothing,
Your humanity meant less,
We made a curse out of your name
When we hung you like the rest


And so the season’s changed;
Love is turned to frost,
And mercy turned to sodden clay;
The song of grace is lost.
just like any other flower
First you bloomed then fell -
The only hope we ever had,
However could we tell.

Unlike any other rose,
You had no thorns till now
When we wove them as a crown
and pressed them on your brow;
And we nailed your healing hands,
And pierced your gospel feet,
And hoisted you above the earth
Where your torment was complete

Later we may learn lament
And sing our sorrow through,
But now we smirk to see you die,
Glad to be rid of you.
We have no need for mercy, man,
No need for love or grace;
Our hearts were hard, our ears were deaf
As we spat into your face.


Copyright © Passion Sunday 2007,
West Wind Music 2 Kiwi Avenue Whangarei 0110 N.Z.

I wrote this lyric late at night on Passion (Palm) Sunday. No donkeys were hurt in the writing of this song! But I woke bleary-eyed on the Monday and went looking for a tune to wrap around this sounding-forth of heart and soul.

I got to sing it on Good Friday in our midday service at Christ Church Whangarei. This new church family have no idea I do stuff like this - just suddenly front with a song I've just written. The service sheet gave nothing away but the title. Oh well - c'est la vie!

Those of you who are curious about such things: Sue and I are on high ground so we weren't flooded out, though some rain flowed under the door into our garage wetting Joan's newly arrived cartons of belongings she shipped from Brisbane. No real harm done! But boy, did rain, children, didn't it rain. Should have built me an ark.

Hope you feel joyful and blessed. Give grace, show mercy, love fearlessly. Time is short.

Richard