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A poem for Easter

Easter Wings

Lord, Who createdst man in wealth and store,

        Though foolishly he lost the same,

              Decaying more and more,

                      Till he became

                        Most poore:

                        With Thee

                      O let me rise,

              As larks, harmoniously,

        And sing this day Thy victories:

Then shall the fall further the flight in me.

My tender age in sorrow did beginne;

  And still with sicknesses and shame

        Thou didst so punish sinne,

                  That I became

                   Most thinne.

                    With Thee

                Let me combine,

      And feel this day Thy victorie;

    For, if I imp my wing on Thine,

Affliction shall advance the flight in me.

George Herbert (1593–1633)

A poem for Good Friday


"Weep not for Me, Mother, 
in the grave I have life."


The choir of angels glorified the great hour,
the heavens melted in flames.
He said to His Father: "Why hast Thou forsaken me?" 
and to His Mother: "Oh, weep not for Me..."


Mary Magdalene smote her breast and wept,
the disciple whom He loved turned to stone,
but where the Mother stood in silence
nobody even dared look.

Anna Akhmatova (1889–1966)