He was not crucified for me,

And not for him, nor her, nor thee,

That gentle Jesus meek and mild,

Once graced our world, unknowing child,

In manhood, he in wisdom grew,

Spoke for the many, not the few,

He chose to face injustice’s sword,

And hypocrites with his spoken word,

They, who place burdens on the poor,

Which they can not themselves endure,

Those misery-made creditors,

He called them “Whited Sepulchres”,

Who strut and preach and gleam so bright,

While life for others they benight,

That temple, once a place of prayer,

They’d made of it a robber’s lair,

In anger he o’er turned their tables,

To the ground he cast their gold and baubles,

The truth of Jesus’ final hour,

Is He dared speak the truth to power.