For Good Friday ...

... something from John Donne. (Hat tip, Dave Lull.)

I think it worth calling these lines of Eliot from "East Coker":

The dripping blood our only drink,
The bloody flesh our only food:
In spite of which we like to think
That we are sound, substantial flesh and blood—
Again, in spite of that, we call this Friday good.

Though my own feeling on this day is best put by Donne:

That Thou remember them some claim as debt;
I think it mercy, if Thou wilt forget.