They crowned Him with a crown of thorns,

Red were His wounds and deep,

For those were crude and cruel days,

And human flesh was cheap.

When Jesus came to our town,

They simply passed Him by,

They never hurt a hair of Him,

They only let Him die;

For men had grown more tender,

And they would not give Him pain,

They only just passed down the street,

And left Him in the rain.

Still Jesus cried, "Forgive them,

For they know not what they do,"

And still it rained the winter rain

That drenched Him through and through;

The crowds went home and left the streets

Without a soul to see,

And Jesus crouched against a wall

And cried for Calvary.