39 lashes whipped and cracked
The sweaty skin of a savior’s back
A surrogate of the spirit spat
With pain and sacrifice

Each throbbing, thrusting, thorn of pain
Brought score of rage
So great in force they say that god ordained
That 39 would suffice

And surely soon as each stroke fell
Much laughing was beheld in hell
As boisterous bragging voices yelled
From he on hades throne

But as jealousy is, by nature, sin
In Satan surely it did swim
As innocence was laid bare and skinned
To a hand that was not his own

For some poor soldier of the roman guard
Whose soul now surely singed and charred
Felt each pulsing, reverberating charge
Of the whip with which he brought crashes

And at the time, of course, restrained
Perhaps a grudge the fiend retained
And a special circle was ordained
For the administer of 39 lashes