Sonnets XCII: That Day was the Preparation, and the Sabbath Drew on

Rise and depart, thou highly-favored one,
From the sad cross, by thine adopted led:
Enough of bitter tears hath now been shed:
'Behold thy mother, and behold thy son.'
The meed of promised glory is not won,
The Prince of Life is numbered with the dead;
Each lingering hope of blessedness hath fled;
The treason hath been wrought — the dark deed done.
Thus down the steep of cruel Calvary
Passed those two holy mourners, hand in hand:
But as the brooding darkness from the land
Rose curtain-like, so comfort cheerily
Broke dawning on their hearts, and visions high
Of glory yet unshaped went dimly by.