As we approach this Easter Day,
I wonder what we'd do or say.
Had we lived back, in days of yore,
And chanced to see that Holy Door
Of the tomb, where Jesus lay,
From which the stone was rolled away.
Perhaps we'd been mixed in the crowd,
That yelled so angry, and so loud.
The day Our Lord was crucified,
The day Our Blessed Saviour Died.
Or, perhaps at Pilates side,
And seen the blood, he tried to hide.
For in this man no fault he found,
Yet let them drag him on the ground.
And yet if we were in this crowd,
A fact, of which not one was proud.
Amid the jeers, we'd wait too late,
And let Our Saviour meet his fate.
E.H. Coe 1972