This poem was published in The Catholic Post newspaper, London May 2022 Edition
This is the hour,
Man’s animosity at its peak
Is cast on him who loved him most
Evil it’s will sturdy, blind, high
Darkness savoured for light
Death haggled for life
A hate in turn for love
That we be saved from same.
For a token the traitor’d give a peck
God’s worth petty, shameful coins
Isolated thence thrice
Till the cock cries
He’s alone, this man of peace
Reduced, turned scene for sinners
He’s disgraced, though crowned
Scourged, pierced; mocked
By all, aliens, veterans and lads
Priests, troops, dukes and crooks
But, at this hallowed hour
It is all finished
The Carpenter is weak of art
Nails on him fastened
Torture in its zenith
His anguish in its peak
So also his mercy —
Lets off the wrongdoing
This is the hour
The glorious sundown
The Good God gasps his last.
