Ash Wednesday to Pentecost


  1. He who was wrapped in peasant coarseness
    Was yet a king who might have dressed in silk,
    Who could have supped on nectar in his grandness,
    But favoured comfort in His mother's milk.
  2. He who was stripped and scourged most cruelly,
    Whose garments were the prize for rolling dice,
    Was such a perfect man, he was the only
    One who gained nothing from His sacrifice.
  3. He, wound in mourning, was so wounded
    No drop of sacred crimson touched the white
    Which, neat in triumph, angels carefully folded
    When He errupted from The Tomb in light.