Why The Robin's Breast Is Red
by James Ryder Randall
The Saviour, bowed beneath his cross, Clomb up the dreary hill, While from the agonizing wreath Ran many a crimson rill. The brawny Roman thrust him on With unrelenting hand— Till, staggering slowly 'mid the crowd, He fell upon the sand.
A little bird that warbled near, That memorable day, Flitted around and strove to wrench One single thorn away; The cruel spike impaled his breast, And thus 'tis sweetly said, The Robin wears his silver vest In panoplies of red.
Ah Jesu! Jesu! Son of Man! My dolour and my sighs Reveal the lesson taught by this Winged Ishmael of the skies. I, in the palace of delight, Or caverns of despair, Have plucked no thorns from Thy dear brow, But planted thousands there!
Why The Robin's Breast Is Red, Maryland, My Maryland and Other Poems, by James Ryder Randall, 1908, Page 75. (PDF)
Vinny Flynn gives a reading of this poem accompanied by a little sermon on the Eternal Now:
PS,
The robin in question is likly the European Robin, Erithacus rubecula, rather than the American Robin, Turdus migratorius.