Sunday, 1 April 2012

Palm Sunday: a picture poem


O glad morning,
promised day, the day
you come to us, riding
to the holy city, Israel's king,
glorious through the Golden Gate. 
We cut the branches, and wave
your joy, your welcome as you ride, 
and shout your praises to the hills,
the Lord's messiah, David’s son, 
triumphant king, hosanna! We cast
our coats before you, carpeting your way.
Today if we kept silent even the stones
would shout the benediction of your name.
Come Friday, we will shout again,
and rend your clothes and call you 
king, and cut the thicker branches,
cypress, pine and cedar,
and fasten them 
with nails,
and
even 
the
sun
will
turn
to ashes,
repenting
the day.

1 Comment:

tortoise said...

Thanks for this, Ben: eloquent and effective. But... were you looking over my shoulder whilst I was writing my sermon for this morning?

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