Ecce Homo   Whose is this horrifying face, This putrid flesh, discouloured, flayed, Fed on by flies, scorched by the sun? Whose are these hollow red-filmed eyes And thorn-spiked head and spear-stuck side? Behold the Man: He is Man’s Son. Forget the legend, tear the decent veil That cowardice or interest devised To make their mortal enemy a friend, To hide the bitter truth all [...]