Classic Poem

“In Jerusalem was my Truelove slain
and rent on rood by boist rous churls;
full ready all our bales to bear,
He took on Him our cares so cold.
With buffets was His face all flay'd,
that was so fair to look upon;
for sin He set Himself at nought,
that ne'er had sin to call His own
For us He let Him beat and bend
and bind upon a rugged rood;
as meek as lamb, that made no plaint,
for us He died in Jerusalem.