Good Friday (Rossetti)

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.