Good Friday by Christina Rossetti

I thought it only fitting that I post Christina Rossetti's poem titled Good Friday. It resonates with me in the feeling of being so familiar with and desensitised to all that Easter really means.

Good Friday

Am I a stone and not a sheep,

   That I can stand, O Christ, beneath Thy cross,

   To number drop by drop Thy Blood’s slow loss,

And yet not weep?

Not so those women loved

   Who with exceeding grief lamented Thee;

   Not so fallen Peter weeping bitterly;

Not so the thief was moved;

Not so the Sun and Moon

   Which hid their faces in a starless sky,

A horror of great darkness at broad noon—

   I, only I.

Yet give not o’er,

   But seek Thy sheep, true Shepherd of the flock;

Greater than Moses, turn and look once more

   And smite a rock.

~Christina Rossetti