A Word for Good Friday

What depth of shame is here! I cannot plumb
The ocean of this love; too dark and cold
For me it is, and though so often bold
My words, in face of this I must be dumb.

The Ground of Being strung above the earth-
The words, they can describe but not express;
The facts I comprehend not but confess
And, trembling, seek that fearful divine dearth.

O speak the news I've heard and yet not heard!
These words still seek but cannot fill that pit
That swallows up all things that come to it,
Swall'wing even the eternal Word.

There disappears He in the grave, and grim
Oblivion it seems will be His fate,
But, 'midst despair, despair not; hope and wait,
This Word will swallow that which swallowed Him.