The Darkest Hours of Easter

Here is a poem of reflection on Good Friday and the events that took place.

Darkest Hours
by Evangeline B. White
©2018

On the Mount drops fell from His forehead down
Sweat and blood dripped when no one was around.
The others fell asleep, unable to pray
It was the beginning of the darkest day.
An angel came and ministered to Jesus
Gave Him strength for the price He'd pay to free us.
The crowd who praised Him the week before
Came to betray Him, honor Him no more.
With swords and false words they came to indict
Rome against the Savior, yet He withheld His might.
His disciples scattered no more in sight
They thought this wasn't good and shrunk in fright.
Brought before Pilate and Herod He was
Beaten, mocked insulted, spit upon because
Darkness reigned during those hours
When the Son of God relinquished His powers.
Angels could have come at the sound of His voice
But they watched and waited as this was God's choice.
Women mourned and wailed for the cross was His fate.
On His shoulders sat the whole world's weight.
A crown of thorns was forced upon His head.
The charge against Him, "King of the Jews" it read.
His skin ripped apart from His head to His feet
Beyond recognition He had been beat.
With a final cry He breathed His last breath.
It was the darkest day, the Savior's death.

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