Good Friday Poetry
Good Friday
Christina
Rossetti
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.
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