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The Day Before The Feast


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My son, my son, what have they done?

The lance that strikes thy side
has pierced the marrow of my soul
and genesis denied!

The Pharisees corrupt the Word
and prove themselves thy foes
They bend to let the thorn spring free
and crucify the Rose

The sky is pitch and no bird sings
deep rent the Temple veil
for he who ate thy blessèd bread
has turned his heel to Sheol

The golden vine is tarnished now
which wreathes the House of Prayer
and every nation's home and hope
has lost its vision rare

So who will now mark out The Way
when Light and Life are gone
back to the Father's heavenly throne
and we so stark alone?

And still they ready for the Feast
Their hope of paradise
is tokened in a slaughtered lamb
the only sacrifice

For tears, I cannot see thee plain
nailed fast on Joseph's wood
My Love, who loved and walked the earth
we have not understood

Yet while I gaze upon the tree
I see a leafing vine
and purple death subsumed in Grace
where hints of glory shine!



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