An Easter Prayer

I see his blood upon the rose

And in the stars the glory of his eyes,

His body gleams amid eternal snows.

His tears fall from the skies,

I see his face in every flower.

The thunder and the singing of the birds.

Are but his voice- and carven by his power.

Rocks are his written words
all pathways by his feet are worn,

His strong heart stirs
the ever-beating sun.

His crown of thorns is twined
with every thorns.

His cross is every tree.

(Joseph Mary Plunkett)