1 Because, dear Christ, your tender, wounded arm <br />2 Bends back the brier that edges life's long way, <br />3 That no hurt comes to heart, to soul no harm, <br />4 I do not feel the thorns so much to-day. <br /> <br />5 Because I never knew your care to tire, <br />6 Your hand to weary guiding me aright, <br />7 Because you walk before and crush the brier, <br />8 It does not pierce my feet so much to-night. <br /> <br />9 Because so often you have hearkened to <br />10 My selfish prayers, I ask but one thing now, <br />11 That these harsh hands of mine add not unto <br />12 The crown of thorns upon your bleeding brow.<br /><br />E. Pauline Johnson (Tekahionwake)<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/brier-good-friday/
