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A poem by Dallas Farrell

He is dead.

I saw Him on the cross that wretched day.

I saw Him take His final breath;

And so I know

He is dead.


I weep now.

How long shall I weep – I do not know

The Master who brought great Word to us;

But now I know

He is dead.


Where is love?

He was with me and the others

Who longed for the meaning He promised us;

But now I wonder

Is love dead?


Thieves! Thieves came!

He is not there in the cloth and linen.

The stone is rolled away – the guards as if dead.

They took Him! I know,

For He is dead.


I weep again.

How long shall I keep wailing – I do not know

My Master has been stolen away from me;

But I do not know

If the Master is dead.


I weep.

And they ask me why I weep.

Don’t they know they’ve taken Him

And I don’t know

Where He is?

A gardener is here.

Who is he? Did he take my Master?

And he asks me why I weep?

Doesn’t he know

My Master whom I love is dead?

Hasn’t he seen

The brokenness and the pain in my life;

The hope I felt when He was here?

I loved the Master with all my heart.

Doesn’t he know

How much I cherished Him?



I hear the voice, and in my head it amplifies.


He is alive! He is speaking!

How did I not know

He is alive

Jesus resurrected


It is sure and it is true.

The Master is here. He is the Lord.

He has conquered it all

And now I know

He is alive.

Oh my heart!

It races with joy.

The Master is here

I long to cling to Him yet I must withhold.

Oh how I know

I must tell them the good news.

(A poem written from Mary’s perspective) 

Dallas Farrell, Australia


Poem© Farrell/

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