Into the Woods

Into the woods my mas­ter went

Clean for­spent

for­spent

Into the woods my mas­ter came

Forspent with love and shame.

But the ol­ives they were not blind to Him.

The lit­tle grey leaves were kind to Him

The thorn tree had a mind to Him

When in­to the woods He came.

Out of the woods my mas­ter came

And He was well con­tent;

Out of the woods my mas­ter came

Content with death and shame.

When death and shame would woo Him last

From un­der the trees they drew Him last

’Twas on a tree they slew Him—last

When out of the woods He came.