Bald the hill,

and bare and raw

the hearts and eyes that watched and wept.

Empty now,

and tramped and trod

the dirt dishonored by our feet.

A crying sky,

and streams and screams

and murmured thunder of remorse.

Barren now,

the wooden stakes

crossed in sorrow, stained with loss.

—

But he was good,

and sharp and wise

the words and warnings of his mouth.

But he was kind,

and quick and calm

the healing hands now spiked with holes.

But he was pure,

and chaste and whole

the beating of his righteous heart.

But he would live!

and rich and full

his feet would usher in his reign.

—

In depths of earth,

and bare and still

the deadness of the empty tomb.

Now shoved aside,

and left forgotten by the door

the massive rock a limestone seal—

He speaks my name,

and heart in throat,

I see Rabboni standing there.

But He does live!

and rich and full

the cross of sorrow ushers in His reign.

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