The anguish whereof Mary spoke that fed So like an inward fire upon her soul, Seemed to surge back on her in memory; And it was after strong recoil subdued That she resumed to say: "Ye will not ask That I tell all again, how shame on shame Was wreaked upon my Lord, until no more Was possible from men. Pilate himself (Now Pilate was the Roman governor) Pilate himself, I think, was moved to pity, Though, paltering, he with cruel weakness bade Scourge that sweet human flesh and temple of God! Perhaps he thought, 'This will content his foes.' So having done, he, issuing from his hall, Brought Jesus forth before the multitude Wearing upon His brow a crown of thorns The soldiers had in mockery plaited Him, And over his bruised form the purple robe. 'Behold the man!' said Pilate to the Jews; I think he must have had his hope to meet Relenting on the part of that wild mob When they saw Jesus in His piteous plight. Bloodthirsty as they were, perhaps they would, With the blood streaming from His wounded brows, They knowing besides how underneath the robe Mock-kingly that he wore the blood coursed down The trenches opened by the cutting lash--With so much blood they might be satisfied. Nay, so much blood but maddened them for more. "'Behold the man!' said Pilate, and I looked. I knew that He was more than man, and never Did He the human measure more surpass, Yet man He was, and so divinely man! The God in Him, apparent like the sun To me, made Him not less, more rather, man. I worshipped Him, and yet I pitied Him! I never pitied other half so much.