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Well, here it is, the last poem of the “Poetry for Holy Week” series.


Joseph of Arimathea
Holy Saturday
They gave Thee to Thy Mother’s arms
And then they laid Thee in a tomb;
Still in Thy face was beauty,
To be sealed away in that deathly room.
Huddled in a locked, closed room,
The Saturday vigil long to keep
Not for sorrow, but for fear
With Thy friends I wee;

Yet at the third day’s dawning,
Thou would arise again,
To go before to Galilee
And meet with human kin!
No message of sorrow there will be
Without the light of joy
Now Death itself lies dying,
And Fear is but a ploy;

Not face to Face, yet heart to Heart,
My heart will rest with Thee,
And when my words all are useless,
Then come, humility.
Not to death will my path lead,
But through it, and then on;
Ever since You opened the gates
I will trust Thee till all is over and done!

And let me keep before me
Thy Passion’s bitter pain
All my life send on me
Thy lifeblood’s healing rain!
Let me bear my little cross
In unison with Thine,
And let me live with Thee forever,
As a saintly sign.