He ran along the street

sweat coming from his brow,

hoping not to meet

someone whom he knew.

The money he had won

which he cast upon the ground,

bought the Eternal Son

now bought a field for the nameless dead.

At last he found the tree

where he thought he could,

by hanging himself become free

of the guilt he held within.

Throwing the rope over the branch and tying,

across the valley to the other side,

the women of Jerusalem were heard crying

for the Savior of the world too was hung,

not by rope to the Tree

but by nails through His Flesh.

He had to hurry to end his misery

he could not bear site

of the God-man he sold

for thirty pieces of silver,

not more than 33 years old

in the prime of His life.

Not because he felt sorry for his sin

did Judas hurry with the rope and jumped,

there hanging in the wind

he looked across the valley

To where the Cross stood tall on a hill.

Christ's Blood ran forth for man

he did not ask for forgiveness still

in despair he went.

The greatest tragedy

of the man called Judas

is that he could have been

Saint Judas.1