I'm posting a poem and a picture for each day of Holy Week this year.
Today's poem always starts sneakily singing through my head as soon as Holy Week begins, getting stronger and stronger as we go through the Triduum. And today? It's shouting. Here it is, our song of joy, the joy of the redeemed, the rescued, the ransomed.
by George Herbert
I got me flowers to straw thy way:
I got me boughs off many a tree:
But thou wast up by break of day,
And brought’st thy sweets along with thee.
The Sun arising in the East,
Though he give light, and th’East perfume;
If they should offer to contest
With thy arising, they presume.
Can there be any day but this,
Though many suns to shine endeavour?
We count three hundred, but we miss:
There is but one, and that one ever.