My memory wings its way, lest it be late— Beyond the old Damascus gate, Where lies the pathway Jesus walked, cross-bound,  Each step seems holy ground. My ears pressed close, I hear the rabble cry, And faintly . . . ah, the tortured sign! But graven deep, indelibly, is Calvary, Grim . . . gaunt . . . with crosses three. The sunlight which had swiftly filtered through Soft fleecy clouds astride the blue, Now disappeared; the earth is wrapped in fear, God’s wrathful judgment near! And in the darkness, while the billows rise, Lone, desolate the Savior cries: “My God, O why hast thou forsaken me,  My heart cries out for thee!” And overwhelmed, I kneel beneath that cross; Was that the price he paid for me? Such love I cannot fathom, Lord. Eternal thanks to thee! And from the travail of vast pain and woe, To depths my heart shall never know, A full redemption and a joyous hope is born; This is our Easter morn.