GOOD FRIDAY NIGHT
At last the bird that sang so long
In twilight circles, hushed his song:
Above the ancient square
The stars came here and there.
Good Friday night! Some hearts were bowed,
But some amid the waiting crowd
Because of too much youth
Felt not that mystic ruth;
And of these hearts my heart was one:
Nor when beneath the arch of stone
With dirge and candle flame
The cross of passion came,
Did my glad spirit feel reproof,
Though on the awful tree aloof,
Unspiritual, dead,
Drooped the ensanguined Head.
To one who stood where myrtles made
A little space of deeper shade
(As I could half descry,
A stranger, even as I),
I said, "These youths who bear along
The symbols of their Saviour's wrong,
The spear, the garment torn,
The flaggel, and the thorn,—