They mocked the dignity of the Messiah Cynically and terribly. Night turned away. He had already sown the sorrowful earthly field. It will bring forth fruit through centuries of smoke. Still far to the black dawn. A dreadful day and a bloody trail. And the whistle of the whip. In response—silence And hostile faces against the crimson backdrop. A cold night—the last before execution, And death already seemed like mercy. Someone laid down his life amid mockery and curses In the dark hour of sorrows and grief. And someone crouched like a shadow by the fire: As if with Christ… Yet closer to the mob. "Neither sword nor spear frightens me now, But that I warm myself—how much guilt is there?..." Suddenly a slave girl's voice: "You were also with Him!" The fire did not warm. Something burned within. Blessed are those who cannot be shaken. And swearing: "I know not this man, I know not what you say to me…" Only his heart was pounding wildly, As if he walked barefoot on stubble. And they sang a song of denial… The soul groaned, mangled and broken. Two gazes: one so full of sorrow, That a mountain was thrust into the disciple's heart… And in an instant hot tears poured forth From Peter's eyes.
