Song of the Hours - Duke Special

In the first hour of the day

Our Lord, he finally knows that

Like a murderer he’ll be judged

By that heathen Pontius Pilate

Pilate shall refuse the blame

And wash his hands in water

Then the innocent condemned

The innocent condemned

Sent off to the slaughter

In the third hour God’s own son

Flails and scourges flayed him

On his head a thorny crown

That the soldiers had made him

Dressed in rags and mockery

Oh, they beat him and deride him

And the cross of his own death

The cross of his own death

He’ll drag along beside him

In the sixth hour, naked and cold

On a cross they staked him

As his blood spilled down

He prayed for his father to save him

One thief laughed and one thief wept

As he died beside them

While the sun withdrew its light

The sun withdrew its light

Hoping thus to hide him

Jesus screamed by hour nine

Why does God forsake him?

In his mouth a bitter gall

Vinegar to slake him

Finally he gave up his ghost

The mountains disassembled

And the veils were rent in twain

The veils were rent in twain

And the whole world trembled

Dark and sudden the nighttime fell

The mocking crowds were scattered

Jesus' sides were torn by spears

The two thieves, their bones were shattered

Still the blood and water flows

And still their mocking laughter

Thus befell the Son of Man

Befell the Son of Man

And many people after

Thus befell the Son of Man

Befell the Son of Man

And many people after