Good Friday

O Heart of Three-in-the evening, You nestled the thorn-crowned head; He leaned on you in His sorrow, And rested on you when dead. Ah! Holy Three-in-the evening He gave you His richest dower; He met you afar on Calvary, And made you 'His own last hour'. O Brow of Three-in-the evening, Thou wearest a crimson crown; Thou art Priest of the hours forever, And thy voice, as thou goest down The cycles of time, still murmurs The story of love each day: 'I held in death the Eternal, In the long and the far-away.' O Heart of Three-in-the evening, Mine beats with thine to-day; Thou tellest the olden story, I kneel -- and I weep and pray. ____ Boulogne, sur mer.