When You Prayed Beneath the Trees

by Christopher Idle
(Thanks to Annamarie Kresge for sending this meaningful poem to me!)

When you prayed beneath the trees, it was for me, O Lord;
when you cried upon your knees, how could it be, O Lord?
When in blood and sweat and tears, you dismissed your final fears,
when you faced the soldiers' spears, you stood for me, O Lord.

When their triumph looked complete, it was for me, O Lord;
when it seemed like your defeat, they could not see, O Lord!
When you faced the mob alone, you were silent as a stone,
and a tree became your throne; you came for me, O Lord.

When you stumbled up the road, you walked for me, O Lord;
when you took your deadly load, that heavy tree, O Lord;
When they lifted you on high, and they nailed you up to die,
and when darkness filled the sky, it was for me, O Lord.

When you spoke with kingly power, it was for me, O Lord; 
in that dread and destined hour, you made me free, O Lord;
Earth and heaven heard you shout, death and hell were put to rout, 
for the grave could not hold out; you are for me, O Lord.