No greater than our Master, but
like Him, walking in His steps, we
hear the snarls, the accusations,
watch the backs turn as we near,
see the rulers run to the trenches
and hear our names sworn in fear.
Walk: the Cross has its many stations
and the road is long and sore.
Look, look up: the nations turn their heartbeats
to the Son of Man in His glory.
The Consolations of Writing 