Brier (Good Friday)

Because, dear Christ, your tender, wounded arm 

Bends back the brier that edges life’s long way, 

That no hurt comes to heart, to soul no harm,
I do not feel the thorns so much to-day.

Because I never knew your care to tire,
Your hand to weary guiding me aright, 

Because you walk before and crush the brier, 

It does not pierce my feet so much to-night.

Because so often you have hearkened to
My selfish prayers, I ask but one thing now, 

That these harsh hands of mine add not unto 

The crown of thorns upon your bleeding brow.

-- E. Pauline Johnson (Tekahionwake) (1861-1913), Canadian and Mohawk poet, performer, and feminist