I worked on this sonnet throughout Holy Week but, as my organist schedule would have it, did not have a chance to revise and publish it until now. So, here you are: a short contemplation on the incarnate Christ.
*(Forgive my limping poetic meter…I prefer to conduct my poems in a musical pattern rather than measure their feet precisely.)
Passover Lamb and firstborn slain, His is the blood and He the doorframe, The Father's wrath and His mother's pain, Bringer of life now the bearer of blame. O, Lion and Lamb, firstborn of the twice-born, Shall You, spotless One, become for us a stain? To cover our naked shame is He shorn? And shall His love-loss be our goriest gain? The Healer now crushed to crush the serpent's head, Cannot have been lifted just to be low-lain, For this is the Rod, the High Healer, now dead; He who holds all together is now split in twain. So silence, my soul, raise no songs nor sweet strains; Our Reconciler is not divided in vain.