I first heard this recited by Archbishop Fulton Sheen and had to look it up to post it here. This poem was written by a man who served in the front lines in WWI as an army chaplain, he was an Anglican priest. He lived in England, and so the town of Birmingham references Birmingham, England.
By G. Studdert-Kennedy
When Jesus came to Golgotha,
They hanged Him on a tree,
They drove great nails through hands and feet,
And made a Calvary;
They crowned Him with a crown of thorns,
Red were His wounds and deep,
For those were crude and cruel days,
And human flesh was cheap.
When Jesus came to Birmingham,
They simply passed Him by.
They would not hurt a hair of Him,
They only let Him die;
For men had grown more tender
And they would not give Him pain,
They only just passed down the street,
And left Him in the rain.
Still Jesus cried,
‘Forgive them, for they know not what they do,'
And still it rained the winter rain,
That drenched Him through and through;
The crowds went home and left the streets
Without a soul to see,
And Jesus crouched against a wall,
And cried, for Calvary.
I think this very much still applies to our time. These are very powerful words he writes. A somber reminder how the Lord is wounded even more than by those who "hanged him on a tree." Because for those who are indifferent, for them, he cries for Calvary.