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Poetry Pleases: Peter Remembers

Brian Jenkinson tells of the last night of Peter the Apostle.

My fellow captives, do not grieve for me
When at first light I shall be crucified;
I shall be proud to share the very death
By which my Lord and Saviour, Jesus, died.
I dread the pain that I shall have to bear
Until the moment of my final breath,
And yet I, Peter, when that moment comes
Shall not be troubled by the fear of death.

I recollect a morning years ago,
The third day since my loving Master died,
When Mary of Magdala ran to me
And my friend John, who stood there by my side.
She told how she had seen the Master’s tomb,
The stone that sealed the door now rolled away.
Then in the gloom a man approached the place
And to her joy she heard the stranger say,
“Mary,” in tones that she had known to well
That told her that it was indeed the Lord
Who stood before her in the garden there,
As she had known him, back to life restored.

So John and I ran swiftly to the tomb.
John reached it first but did not go inside.
I followed him and saw him hesitate,
Looking within, his two eyes staring wide.
At last we entered, saw the body gone,
But yet the grave cloths lying each in its place,
So we believed the news that Mary brought,
Although of Christ the Lord we saw no trace.
Yet on the evening of that wondrous day
When we disciples met with one accord,
Although the doors were shut with lock and bar,
Before us stood the newly-risen Lord.

He came to us again through forty days,
Continuing his teaching to us all,
Until we saw him summoned back to heaven,
Obedient to his loving Father’s call.
And that is why I have no fear of death.
The facts that I have told you are not lies.
I know that when I leave this world behind,
like Christ the Lord, I shall be sure to rise.


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