(At Easter in South Africa)
PILATE and Caïaphas | |
| They have brought this thing to pass— | |
| That a Christ the Father gave, | |
| Should be guest within a grave. | |
| |
| Church and State have willed to last | 5 |
| This tyranny not over-past; | |
| His dark southern Brows around | |
| They a wreath of briars have bound, | |
| In His dark despiséd Hands | |
| Writ in sores their writing stands. | 10 |
| |
| By strait starlit ways I creep, | |
| Caring while the careless sleep, | |
| Bearing balms, and flow’rs to crown | |
| That poor Head the stone holds down, | |
| Through some crack or crevice dim | 15 |
| I would reach my sweets to Him. | |
| |
| Easter suns they rise and set, | |
| But that stone is steadfast yet: | |
| Past my lifting ’tis but I | |
| When ’tis lifted would be nigh. | 20 |
| I believe, whate’er they say, | |
| The sun shall dance an Easter Day, | |
| And I that through thick twilight grope | |
| With balms of faith, and flow’rs of hope, | |
| Shall lift mine eyes and see that stone | 25 |
| Stir and shake, if not be gone. | |
