  THIS sin is unto death. Whose death? Fair tomb Of virgin rock, not for my corse such room! Where never man hath lain Shall I by sin attain— Among the unpolluted crystals lie In my malignity? For I have killed my God, and I behold His burial, behold His Body rolled In a new sheet with nard, And in the grotto hard Lying as hard—O tenderest Love!—as block Of that new-cloven rock. As a vile, wandering spectre I must stray, Now I have quenched the Light, that was my Day, By wickedness, almost Against the Holy Ghost, Laying within His tomb God, laying Him Wound tight in face and limb. I cannot see! My eyes are wells that beat Fountains of tears forth on my hands and feet: With fire of pain I cry, That angels of the sky Come forth.... “My God, arise and live once more! My sin I will abhor! “Divine One, be not dead and put away! O Holy Ghost, blow down the stone, I pray, Though it should crush me there Outspread, the worst I dare. Divine One, mid the tombs, with pardoning grace Unwrap Thy limbs, Thy face! “Austere come forth upon me as grey dawn! Well it had been that I had not been born, Who could Thy burial see!.... What will become of me, Unless Thou wilt arise and bid me live, Unless Thou wilt forgive?” But there is Easter every day and hour When by the crevice of Thy tomb we cower, Ghosts from dank night, and call, And wait for one footfall Of the arising, awful Love we doomed Ourselves to lie entombed. |
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