The Two Accusations

A CROSS stands black against the last pale glow
Of that dread day that twice was veiled in night;
The form that quivered there when noon was high
Rests low amidst the shrouds and spices now,
And reverent hands have wiped the thorn-crowned brow,
But where it bowed at noon, death-dewed and white,
The Roman's accusation meets my sight,
Earth's homage rendered in her own despite,
Proclaiming in three tongues thy right divine!

Yet as I gaze my heart discovers there
Another accusation black and clear;
These were the crimes that slew Thee! — They are mine !
But it is torn, and stained with sacred blood;
No more a sentence, but a pardon sealed by God.
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