Good Friday

O Heart of Three-in-the evening,
You nestled the thorn-crowned head;
He leaned on you in His sorrow,
And rested on you when dead.

Ah! Holy Three-in-the evening
He gave you His richest dower;
He met you afar on Calvary,
And made you "His own last hour".

O Brow of Three-in-the evening,
Thou wearest a crimson crown;
Thou art Priest of the hours forever,
And thy voice, as thou goest down

The cycles of time, still murmurs
The story of love each day:
"I held in death the Eternal,
In the long and the far-away."

O Heart of Three-in-the evening,
Mine beats with thine to-day;
Thou tellest the olden story,
I kneel -- and I weep and pray.

____
Boulogne, sur mer.

Abram Joseph Ryan

Abram Joseph Ryan was an American poet, Catholic priest, and former Confederate chaplain. Known as the 'Poet-Priest of the South,' his most famous work is 'The Conquered Banner.' Ryan wrote many poems that reflected his Southern heritage and the American Civil War. His works often possess a spiritual and melancholic tone, inspired by the losses of the war and his religious faith. In addition to poetry, he also wrote essays and gave public speeches.

Abram Joseph Ryan

In Memoriam (Father Keeler)

Abram Joseph Ryan, Simple Poetry

Feast of the Presentation of Mary in the Temple

Abram Joseph Ryan, Simple Poetry

The Seen and The Unseen

Abram Joseph Ryan, Simple Poetry

Spirit Song

Abram Joseph Ryan, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Feast of the Sacred Heart

Two lights on a lowly altar;
Two snowy cloths for a Feast;
Two vases of dying roses;
The morning comes from the east,
With a gleam for the folds of the vestments
And a grace for the face of the priest.

The sound of a low, sweet whisper
Floats over a little bread,
And trembles around a chalice,
And the priest bows down his head!
O'er a sign of white on the altar --
In the cup -- o'er a sign of red.

As red as the red of roses,
As white as the white of snows!
But the red is a red of a surface
Beneath which a God's blood flows;
And the white is the white of a sunlight
Within which a God's flesh glows.

Ah! words of the olden Thursday!
Ye come from the far-away!
Ye bring us the Friday's victim
In His own love's olden way;

Abram Joseph Ryan

A Legend

He walked alone beside the lonely sea,
The slanting sunbeams fell upon his face,
His shadow fluttered on the pure white sands
Like the weary wing of a soundless prayer.
And He was, oh! so beautiful and fair!
Brown sandals on His feet -- His face downcast,
As if He loved the earth more than the heav'ns.
His face looked like His Mother's -- only hers
Had not those strange serenities and stirs
That paled or flushed His olive cheeks and brow.
He wore the seamless robe His Mother made --
And as He gathered it about His breast,
The wavelets heard a sweet and gentle voice
Murmur, "Oh! My Mother" -- the white sands felt
The touch of tender tears He wept the while.
He walked beside the sea; He took His sandals off
To bathe His weary feet in the pure cool wave --
F...

Abram Joseph Ryan

Passing Away

Life's Vesper-bells are ringing
In the temple of my heart,
And yon sunset, sure, is singing
"Nunc dimittis -- Now depart!"
Ah! the eve is golden-clouded,
But to-morrow's sun shall shine
On this weary body shrouded;
But my soul doth not repine.

"Let me see the sun descending,
I will see his light no more,
For my life, this eve, is ending;
And to-morrow on the shore
That is fair, and white, and golden,
I will meet my God; and ye
Will forget not all the olden,
Happy hours ye spent with me.

"I am glad that I am going;
What a strange and sweet delight
Is thro' all my being flowing
When I know that, sure, to-night
I will pass from earth and meet Him
Whom I loved thro' all the years,
Who will crown me when I greet Him,
A...

Abram Joseph Ryan

Good Friday Night

        At last the bird that sang so long
        In twilight circles, hushed his song:
        Above the ancient square
        The stars came here and there.

        Good Friday night! Some hearts were bowed,
        But some amid the waiting crowd
        Because of too much youth
        Felt not that mystic ruth;

        And of these hearts my heart was one:
        Nor when beneath the arch of stone
        With dirge and candle flame
        The cross of passion came,

        Did my glad spirit feel reproof,
        Though on the awful tree aloof,
        Unspiritual, dead,
        Drooped the ensanguined Head.

        To one who stood where myrtles made
        A little space of deeper shade
        (As I could half d...

William Vaughn Moody

Hope

Thine eyes are dim:
A mist hath gathered there;
Around their rim
Float many clouds of care,
And there is sorrow every -- everywhere.

But there is God,
Every -- everywhere;
Beneath His rod
Kneel thou adown in prayer.

For grief is God's own kiss
Upon a soul.
Look up! the sun of bliss
Will shine where storm-clouds roll.

Yes, weeper, weep!
'Twill not be evermore;
I know the darkest deep
Hath e'en the brightest shore.

So tired! so tired!
A cry of half despair;
Look! at your side --
And see Who standeth there!

Your Father! Hush!
A heart beats in His breast;
Now rise and rush
Into His arms -- and rest.

Abram Joseph Ryan

In Memoriam (Father Keeler)

Father Keeler died February 28, 1880, in Mobile, Ala.
Inscribed to his sister.



"Sweet Christ! let him live, ah! we need his life,
    And woe to us if he goes!
Oh! his life is beautiful, sweet, and fair,
Like a holy hymn, and the stillest prayer;
Let him linger to help us in the strife
    On earth, with our sins and woes."

'Twas the cry of thousands who loved him so,
The Angel of Death said: "No! oh! no!"
He was passing away -- and none might save
The virgin priest from a spotless grave.

"O God! spare his life, we plead and pray,
    He taught us to love You so --
So, so much -- his life is so sweet and fair --
A still, still song -- and a holy prayer;
He is our Father; oh! let him stay --
    He gone, to whom shall we go?"<...

Abram Joseph Ryan