A Dreadful Day

It was the kind of dreadful day

When no decent folk would dare to stray

Beyond their walls into the way,

But, pulled the shade and dared not peek

Beyond the opening of clay.

Although the hour was nearing noon,

Dark shadows fell in every room.

And should one glimpse the stormy sky

Three crosses dark against its breast,

Summoned only thoughts of gloom.

Why darkness here at peek of day?

Why stirring of this earth of clay?

Why spirits walking in the streets?

Why noise and rumbling at my feet?

And why no children out to play?

Upon one cross all wrath is waged.

The fierceness of all nature raged,

Lashing at his body torn,

Pounding at his bleeding head.,

Tearing at his hands and feet.

Only when the savior dies,

Does the Master clear the skies

Giving all the dark clouds flight.

He then stills the wind and rain.

And calms the heart of he who cries.

But, still no one dared to speak

Above a whisper or peradventure just to peek,

Beyond the door. For down the street

They carried him, wretched man with body torn,

To wait the resurrection morn

And with his fathers sleep.

Yet soon there dawned a brighter day.

Just three days hence. Not faraway,

The borrowed tomb a rumbling made.

The soldiers scattered, running past,

The women coming there to pray.

Inside the tomb, t'was plain to see,

His body gone, the grave clothes neat.

"Who," they asked, "would be so brave

To take the dead from out his grave,

And leave no clue as where to seek.

Perhaps the gardener at the gate,

Can tell me where my Lord was laid.

"Praise God! He lives, my savior, friend."

"I know him now. I knew him when

He gently called my name."

No more sorrow, trials sore.

No more wreath upon the door.

The Savior went to hell's great depth,

Conquering sorrow, pain and death,

Bringing joy for evermore.

AMEN