They... led Him away to crucify Him. Never was there such another procession as that which went along the Via Dolorosa that Good Friday morning. Christ died that day for us. “Under an eastern sky, Amid a rabble cry, A man went forth to die – For me. “Thorn–crowned His blessed head, Blood–stained His every tread, Cross–laden, on He sped – For me.” There was human pity at the cross; medicated wine was offered The Sufferer by gentle hands. But He refused to take the stupefying draught. He would not lessen in the smallest degree his pain as The World’s Redeemer, and He would not enter the great mystery of death with faculties dulled. Terrible as were the sufferings of Christ on His cross, we think of Him not with pity, but with adoration. What we see is The Lamb of God bearing the sin of the world.