Good Friday

 

                                                                                                                                                                                                                 

Beneath Thy Cross

Am I a stone, and not a sheep,

   That I can stand, O Christ, beneath Thy cross,

To number drop by drop Thy Blood’s slow loss,

    And yet not weep?

 

Not so those women loved

   Who with exceeding grief lamented Thee;

Not so fallen Peter weeping bitterly;

   Not so the thief was moved;

 

Not so the Sun and Moon

   Which hid their faces in a starless sky,

A horror of great darkness at broad noon -

   I, only I.

 

Yet give not o’er,

   But seek Thy sheep, true Shepherd of the flock;

Greater than Moses, turn and look once more

   And smite a rock.

                                                     

Christina Rossetti