'The following is a poem which was found among my grandmother's possessions

after her death in 1989.'

Was I Gentile, Jew or Roman

on that Friday long ago?

Did I join that sad procession

so sorrowful and slow?

Did I try to give him water

or help to ease his load?

Did I reach out with compassion

or wield a stinging goad?

Did I wring my hands in sorrow

as he bowed His weary head?

When He dragged the cross of timber,

did I scoff at Him instead?

Did I yearn to bear His burden

or had I held the thorn

that crowned Him the Messiah

in the stillness of the morn?

Did I close my eyes in anguish

as the nails were driven home?

Or did I feel that justice

had obeyed the laws of Rome?

Did I have a moment's panic

when I heard the words so few,

"Forgive them, oh My Father,

for they know not what they do."