Sketch by Patrick Murphy

Hymne to God the Father

Before time
	your counsels chose
	that you would lose
eternal ties
	with your one
	and only Son.

Not sparing Him,
	you let the whips
	fall and the blood drip.
Judges condemned
	as the priests quipped.

On a dark hill,
	like Abraham,
	you left your Lamb.
No bright angel
	unveiled a ram

snared in thickets
	by its horns.
	Instead, the thorns
on Christ’s head caught
	the sacrifice
	of God’s own life.

Nails split
	His wrists and feet
	and severed sweet
communion, which
	left you bereaved.

Not even birth
	pangs compare to
	what you went through
at your Son’s death.
	Abba, thank you.

_______

The form of this poem was inspired by “Hymne to God the Father” by Ben Jonson