The Christ who works in offices Is weary of his load, Sum Total is his torture And Hurry is his goad. From Pilate's hall to Caiaphas They drive him to and fro, And only He Who is a Sign His agony will know. They crown his brow with wrinkles deep To profit find or loss, With price and cost they load him down, The Ledger is his cross. Each day he goes to Golgotha To meekly do their will, They look at him with eyes of scorn On crucifixion hill. The Christ who works in offices For masters stern and grim, Looks from his window prison bars To hear the Easter hymn! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE SUN by HAYDEN CARRUTH JOURNEY TO A KNOWN PLACE by HAYDEN CARRUTH DELUSION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: JOHN CABANIS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS LEAVES OF A MAGAZINE by MARIANNE MOORE HUFFMAN'S PHOTOGRAPH OF THE GRAVES OF THE UNKNOWN AT LITTLE BIGHORN by KAREN SWENSON |