When My arms are stretched out

Yes, we'll sing, whate'er befall:
Jesus Christ is Lord of all!.
* They bow the knee.

PLATO:
Pol Hercle, what a noise! and if you please
Give me the credit of my own invention.

SOCRATES:
My son, I do not wish to breed dissension
But . . . did you never hear of Socrates?

* To Christ.
Hemlock, sir, is a far genteeler fashion
Of quitting life than is a gallows-passion.
* Offering hemlock.

PLATO (eagerly):
That's where you're wrong. The righteous man, say I,
Must die in shameful torment . . .

VOICE WITHIN:
Crucify!

A CAPTAIN:
What folly's this? Go, shift the prisoner straight;
Bring Him to Golgotha without the gate.

* They put on Him His own robe.

PERSONA DEI:
Now that I must come to die
Nought is left of Me, save I
Discrowned, stript, alone;
Yet when I am lifted high
I will cause all men draw nigh
Unto My royal throne.
As I go to Golgotha
My tread shakes the earth afar.
My voice shall sound at Heaven's bar,
"Eloi, eloi, lama,
Lama sabachthani."

They shall reach the world about,
The round earth hangs upon My stout
And stark and bitter Tree.
Therefore all ye that go by
Look and see how I hang high,
If you may find the time to sigh:
"Eleison Christe."

* EXPLICIT.