Seraphim shroud Christ with gold,

“Thy majesty” they sayeth in sing-song praise.

But alas, much sorrow He walketh with,

the good son of God,

for He knoweth the time is near.

“Have mercy on thy people, hold thine wrath,”

His cries reacheth the crest of the heavens.

The sheen of divinity belies His tears,

But He finds comfort in the Father’s embrace.