It's Good Friday 2019. Here is A.J.M. Smith's poem "Good Friday"; note that in the final stanza he uses the archaic word "meed", defined by Oxford as "A person's deserved share of praise, honour, etc."
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My mother and I, Easter at St. Matthew's Church, 1957 |
GOOD FRIDAY
By A.J.M. Smith
This day upon the bitter tree
Died one who had he willed
Could have dried up the wide sea
And the wind stilled,
And when at the ninth hour
He surrendered the ghost
His face was a faded flower,
Drooping and lost.
Who then was not afraid?
Targeted, heart and eye,
Struck, as with darts, by godhead
In human agony.
For him, with a cry
Could shatter if he willed
The sea and earth and sky
And them re-build,
Who chose amid the tumult
Of the darkening sky
A chivalry more difficult—
As men to die,
What answering meed of love
Can this frail flesh return
That is not all unworthy of
The god I mourn?