The Black Christ

By Arthur Shearly Cripps 

(b.1869)

(At Easter in South Africa)

PILATE and Caiaphas

They have brought this thing to pass-

That a Christ the Father gave,

Should be guest within a grave.

Church and State have willed to last

This tyranny not yet over-past,

His dark southern Brows around

They a wreath of briars have bound,

In His dark despised Hands

Writ in sores their writing stands.

By strait starlit ways I creep,

Caring while the careless sleep,

Bearing balms, and flow'rs to crown

That poor Head the stone holds down,

Through some crack or crevice dim

I would reach my sweets to Him.

Easter suns they rise and set,

But that stone is steadfast yet:

Past my lifting 'tis but I

When 'tis lifted would be nigh.

I believe, whate'er they say,

The sun shall dance an Easter Day,

And I that through thick twilight grope

With balms of faith, and flow'rs of hope,

Shall lift mine eyes and see that stone

Stir and shake, if not be gone.

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