Good Friday (Rossetti)

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For works with similar titles, see Good Friday.

Am I a stone and not a sheep,
     That I can stand, O Christ, beneath Thy cross,
     To number drop by drop Thy blood's slow loss
And yet not weep?

Not so those women loved
     Who with exceeding grief lamented Thee;
     Not so fallen Peter weeping bitterly;
Not so the thief was moved;

Not so the Sun and Moon
     Which hid their faces in the starless sky,
     A horror of great darkness at broad noon —
I, only I.

Yet give not o'er,
     But seek Thy sheep, true Shepherd of the flock
     Greater than Moses, turn and look once more,
And smite a rock.