Friday, March 29, 2013

Good Friday


Many years ago one of our Sisters found this lovely poem and it has become a tradition to read it in the refectory each Good Friday at the evening meal. However we have not been able to locate the source or the author.


LIMBO


The ancient greyness shifted
Suddenly and thinned
Like mist upon the moors
Before a wind.
An old, old prophet lifted
A shining face and said:
"He will be coming soon.
The Son of God is dead.
He died this afternoon".

A murmurous excitement stirred
All souls.
They wondered if they dreamed --
Save one old man who seemed
Not even to have heard.

And Moses standing
Hushed them all to ask
If any had a welcome song prepared.
If not, would David take the task?
And if they cared
Could not the three young children sing
The “Benedicite”, the canticle of praise
They made when God kept them from perishing
In the fiery blaze?

A breath of spring surprised them
Stilling Moses' words.
No one could speak, remembering
The first fresh flowers,
The little singing birds.
Still others thought of fields new ploughed
Or apple trees
All blossom boughed.

Or some, the way a dried bed fills
With water
Laughing down green hills.
The fisherfolk dreamed of the foam
On bright blue seas.
The one old man who had not stirred
Remembered home.

And there He was
Splendid as the morning sun and fair
As only God is fair.
And they, confused with joy,
Knelt to adore
Seeing that He wore
Five crimson stars
He never had before.

No canticle at all was sung.
None toned a psalm, or raised a greeting song.
A silent man alone
Of all that throng
Found tongue--
Not any other.

Close to His heart
When the embrace was done,
Old Joseph said,
"How is Your Mother,
How is Your Mother, Son?"

2 comments:

  1. Thank you sisters for posting this! What a lovely and thought provoking poem. Blessings to all of you and Thank you!! O;-)

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  2. This is beautiful, thank you for posting it. God bless. :)

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