Holy Week: A Poem by Christina Rossetti

Am I a stone, and not a sheep,
            That I can stand, O Christ, beneath Thy cross,
To number drop by drop Thy blood’s slow loss,
            And yet not weep?  
 
Not so those women loved
            Who with exceeding grief lamented Thee;
Not so fallen Peter weeping bitterly;
            Not so the thief was moved;  
 
Not so the Sun and Moon
            Which hid their faces in a starless sky,
A horror of great darkness at broad noon--
            I, only I.  
 
Yet give not o’er,
            But seek Thy sheep, true Shepherd of the flock;
Greater than Moses, turn and look once more
            And smite a rock.