Tabb Centenary Year XXI

A sonnet by Rev. John B. Tabb.

The Paschal Moon

Thy face is whitened with remembered woe;
For thou alone, pale satellite, didst see,
Amid the shadows of Gethsemane,
The mingled cup of sacrifice o’erflow;
Nor hadst the power of utterance to show
The wasting wound of silent sympathy,
Till sudden tides, obedient to thee,
Sobbed, desolate in weltering anguish, low.
The holy night returneth year by year,
And while the mystic vapors from thy rim
Distil the dews, as from the Victim there
The red drops trickled in the twilight dim,
The ocean’s changeless threnody we hear,
And gaze upon thee as thou didst on Him.

1894 (p. 291, Sonnets)

[Today is Holy Thursday, on which day Christians commemorate the Last Supper of the Lord Jesus with His Apostles, after which He underwent His Agony in the Garden of Gethsemane. “Paschal” (deriving from “Pasch”, meaning “Passover”) refers to the period beginning today and concluding on Easter Sunday; “red drops”: see Luke 22:44.]

Lane Core Jr. CIW P — Thu. 04/09/09 07:19:48 AM
Categorized as Father Tabb Centenary Year & Literary.