The Second Crucifixion

Loud mockers in the roaring street
    Say Christ is crucified again:
Twice pierced His gospel-bringing feet,
    Twice broken His great heart in vain.

I hear, and to myself I smile,
For Christ talks with me all the while.

No angel now to roll the stone
    From off His unawaking sleep,
In vain shall Mary watch alone,
    In vain the soldiers vigil keep.

Yet while they deem my Lord is dead
My eyes are on His shining head.

Ah! never more shall Mary hear
    That voice exceeding sweet and low
Within the garden calling clear:
    Her Lord is gone, and she must go.

Yet all the while my Lord I meet
In every London lane and street.

Poor Lazarus shall wait in vain,
    And Bartimaeus still go blind;
The healing hem shall ne'er again
    Be touched by suffering humankind.

Yet all the while I see them rest,
The poor and outcast, in His breast.

No more unto the stubborn heart
    With gentle knocking shall He plead,
No more the mystic pity start,
    For Christ twice dead is dead indeed.

So in the street I hear men say,
Yet Christ is with me all the day.

Richard Le Gallienne

Richard Le Gallienne was an English author and poet born on January 20, 1866. Known for his lyrical poetry, he was a key figure in the literary circles of the fin de siècle. He contributed to the literary magazine 'The Yellow Book' and was involved with the Rhymers' Club, an influential group of London-based poets. His works often explored themes of beauty, love, and nature. His influence extended to both sides of the Atlantic, and he spent the latter part of his life in the United States, where he continued to write until his death on September 15, 1947.

Richard Le Gallienne

To A Beautiful Old Lady

Richard Le Gallienne, Simple Poetry

Buried Treasure

Richard Le Gallienne, Simple Poetry

To Belgium

Richard Le Gallienne, Simple Poetry

At Last I Got A Letter From The Dead

Richard Le Gallienne, 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.

The Passion Play.

I.

Where falls the shadow of the Kofel cross
Athwart the Alpine snows, the rose of faith
Is blooming still in consecrated hearts,
And holy men another cross have hewn
Whereon the symboled Christ again shall die
To cleanse the world of sin. Within the vale
Where flows the Ammer like a trail of tears
Upon the Holy Mother's face, I see
The men and women, faithful to their vows,
Breathing the passion of Gethsemane.
I see the Saviour in Jerusalem;
I see the godless traders scourged; I see
Their wares strewn on the temple floor, their doves
Set free to wander on the roving winds;
I see Iscariot kiss the Nazarene;
I see the hate of Herod, and I hear
The multitude half-sob, half-wail, "The Cross!"
Then up the Way of Tears to Golgotha,
Crowned with...

Charles Hamilton Musgrove

Easter Even

(Lyra Messianica, 1864.)


There is nothing more that they can do
    For all their rage and boast;
Caiaphas with his blaspheming crew,
    Herod with his host,

Pontius Pilate in his Judgement-hall
    Judging their Judge and his,
Or he who led them all and passed them all,
    Arch-Judas with his kiss.

The sepulchre made sure with ponderous Stone,
    Seal that same stone, O Priest;
It may be thou shalt block the holy One
    From rising in the east:

Set a watch about the sepulchre
    To watch on pain of death;
They must hold fast the stone if One should stir
    And shake it from beneath.

God Almighty, He can break a seal
    And roll away a Stone,
Can grind the proud in dust who would not kneel,
...

Christina Georgina Rossetti

Christ Crucified

Now ere I slept, my prayer had been that I might see my way
To do the will of Christ, our Lord and Master, day by day;
And with this prayer upon my lips, I knew not that I dreamed,
But suddenly the world of night a pandemonium seemed.
From forest, and from slaughter house, from bull ring, and from stall,
There rose an anguished cry of pain, a loud, appealing call;
As man - the dumb beast's next of kin - with gun, and whip, and knife,
Went pleasure-seeking through the earth, blood-bent on taking life.
From trap, and cage, and house, and zoo, and street, that awful strain
Of tortured creatures rose and swelled the orchestra of pain.
And then methought the gentle Christ appeared to me, and spoke:
'I called you, but ye answered not' - and in my fear I woke.

Then next I heard th...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The Crucifixion

They sunk a post into the ground
Where their leaders bade them stop;
It was a mans height, and they spiked
A crosspiece to the top.
They bound it well with thongs of hide,
To make it firm and good;
Then roughly, with His back to this,
Their enemy they stood.
They held His hands upon the piece,
And they spiked them to the wood.

They mocked Him then, the while He rocked
In agony His head,
With things that He had never done,
And He had never said,
With that which He had never been,
And in His face they spat.
They placed a plank beside the post,
And they spiked His feet to that.

They pelted Him, but not with stones,
Lest He should die too soon;
They stayed to mock His agony
All through the blazing noon.
They did not pelt ...

Henry Lawson

The Ballad Of Lost Souls

With the thirty pieces of silver,
They bought the Potter's Field;
For none would have the blood-money
And the interest it might yield.

The Place of Blood for the Price of Blood,
And that was meet, I ween,
For there they would bury the dead who died
In frowardness and sin.

And the first man they would bury there
Was Judas Iscariot;
And that was as dreadful a burying
As ever was, I wot.

For the sick earth would not keep him;
Each time it thrust him out,
And they that would have buried him
Stood shuddering round about.

And others they would bury
In that unhallowed spot,
But honest earth would none of them,
Because of Iscariot.

And oh, it was a fell, fell place,
With dead black trees all round,
And a quag...

William Arthur Dunkerley (John Oxenham)

Mary Of Magdala. (Hymn)

"While it was yet dark."

Mary of Magdala, when the moon had set,
Forth to the garden that was with night dews wet,
Fared in the dark - woe-wan and bent was she,
'Neath many pounds' weight of fragrant spicery.

Mary of Magdala, in her misery,
"Who shall roll the stone up from yon door?" quoth she;
And trembling down the steep she went, and wept sore,
Because her dearest Lord was, alas! no more.

Her burden she let fall, lo! the stone was gone;
Light was there within, out to the dark it shone;
With an angel's face the dread tomb was bright,
The which she beholding fell for sore affright.

Mary of Magdala, in her misery,
Heard the white vision speak, and did straightway flee;
And an idle tale seem'd the wild words she said,
And nought ...

Jean Ingelow