Beneath Thy Cross

I’ve posted this before during this week — Holy Week, as some call it. I just call it a week to remember that Christ died for me.

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

Comments

[quom diu loquor]

Many thanks for the beautiful poem. The week Ezekiel (11 19) prophesied.