If we had lived on that long-gone day
When they nailed Him to the tree,
Do you suppose that you and I
Would have led Him to Calvary?

Would we have joined the jeering throng
That clustered at His feet;
Would we have mocked Him, spat upon
His face, so calm and sweet?

Would we have stood complacently
To see Him crucified;
To see His nail-pierced hands and feet,
His crown of thorns, His wounded side?

Ah, no! Such shame would not be ours
We say, and yet—and yet—
So often in the stress of Life
My friend, do we forget—

That long steep hill, the angry mob,
The crosses, stacked against the sky,
The gentle Man, so kind, so brave,
Going forth, alone, to die!

We would not crucify Him once,
And yet so sinful is our way,
So blind are we, and selfish, too,
We crucify Him every day!