Good Friday

A poem by Abram Joseph Ryan

O Heart of Three-in-the evening,
You nestled the thorn-crowned head;
He leaned on you in His sorrow,
And rested on you when dead.

Ah! Holy Three-in-the evening
He gave you His richest dower;
He met you afar on Calvary,
And made you "His own last hour".

O Brow of Three-in-the evening,
Thou wearest a crimson crown;
Thou art Priest of the hours forever,
And thy voice, as thou goest down

The cycles of time, still murmurs
The story of love each day:
"I held in death the Eternal,
In the long and the far-away."

O Heart of Three-in-the evening,
Mine beats with thine to-day;
Thou tellest the olden story,
I kneel -- and I weep and pray.

Boulogne, sur mer.

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