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Poem by Emily Pauline Johnson


Brier - Good Friday


    Because, dear Christ, your tender, wounded arm
        Bends back the brier that edges life's long way,
    That no hurt comes to heart, to soul no harm,
        I do not feel the thorns so much to-day.

    Because I never knew your care to tire,
        Your hand to weary guiding me aright,
    Because you walk before and crush the brier,
        It does not pierce my feet so much to-night.

    Because so often you have hearkened to
        My selfish prayers, I ask but one thing now,
    That these harsh hands of mine add not unto
        The crown of thorns upon your bleeding brow.



Emily Pauline Johnson


Emily Pauline Johnson's other poems:
  1. Where Leaps the Ste. Marie
  2. The Train Dogs
  3. The Art of Alma-Tadema
  4. Low Tide at St. Andrews
  5. The Flight of the Crows


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