The Crossing

The angels tremble as He passes by,
And women weep to see Him humbly bowed;
A fearful shadow follows in His wake
And swallows all who fall under its shroud.

He falls, and all the earth withholds its breath,
As if before the rising of the sun;
But darkness writhes when God kisses the ground
And cleaves once more to what He has begun.

The cup is nearly empty, time draws near,
And hovers close upon the edge of doom;
He sees His journey's end in death's cruel face
And far beyond, amid the eyeless tomb.

What wonder this - when God rushes to meet
A death that is a torture to behold?
O Mercy sweet that kills our deepest dread
By making smooth the Way we could not hold.