Still falls the Rain –
Dark as the world of man, black as our loss –
Blind as the nineteen hundred and forty nails
Upon the Cross

Still falls the rain
With a sound like the pulse of the heart that is changed to the hammer beat
In the potter’s field, and the sound of the impious feet
On the Tomb:
Still falls the rain
In the field of Blood where the small hopes breed and the human brain
Nurtures its greed, that worm with the brow of Cain
Still falls the rain
At the feet of the Starved Man hung upon the Cross.
Christ that each day, each night, nails there, have mercy on us –
On Dives and on Lazarus:
Under the rain the sore and the gold are as one.

Still falls the rain –
Then – O Ile leap up to my God: who pulls me doune –
See, where Christ’s blood streams in the firmament:
It flows from the Brow we nailed upon the tree
Deep to the dying, to the thirsting heart
That holds the fires of the world – dark-smirched with pain
As Caesar’s laurel crown

Then sounds the voice of One who like the heart of man
Was once a child who among beasts has lain –
‘Still do I love, still shed my innocent light, my Blood, for thee’

Edith Sitwell