Have
you passed by Crucifix Corner
As
the day turns into night?
There’s
a kind of creepy silence
That
makes your nerve strings tight.
You
hear the drivers cursing
As
the convoy quickens pace,
And
the wagons sway in a dangerous way
Thro’
that shell-hole mottled space.
(Yes,
they hurry at Crucifix Corner as the evening hours grow late,
For
it’s hell at Crucifix Corner at the time of the “evening
hate”!)
Have
you passed by Crucifix Corner
At
the hour of a perfect dawn,
When
the balm of daylight comes again
And
the eerie night has gone?
There’s
a peace that speaks of Heaven,
And
the ruins form a shrine
For the Figure
above speaks of perfect love
And
the Presence all divine.
(You
may loiter at Crucifix Corner as you pass upon your way,
For
there’s peace at Crucifix Corner at the hour of dawning day.)