Take 90 seconds to read the below poem by Christina Rossetti (1830-1894), titled, "Maundy Thursday."

Appropriate, given that is what today is.

Rossetti is one of my favorite poets for a reason: she was motivated by a deep, complex faith, and had an unmatched ear for language and rhythm.

Maundy Thursday

The great Vine left its glory to reign as Forest King. "Nay," quoth the lofty forest trees, "we will not have this thing; We will not have this supple one enring us with its ring. Lo, from immemorial time our might towers shadowing: Not we were born to curve and droop, not we to climb and cling: We buffet back the buffeting wind, tough to its buffeting: We screen great beasts, the wild fowl build in our heads and sing, Every bird of every feather from off our tops takes wing: I a king, and thou a king, and what king shall be our king?"

Nevertheless the great Vine stooped to be the Forest King, While the forest swayed and murmured like seas that are tempesting: Stooped and drooped with thousand tendrils in thirsty languishing; Bowed to earth and lay on earth for earth's replenishing; Put off sweetness, tasted bitterness, endured time's fashioning; Put off life and put on death: and lo! it was all to bring All its fellows down to a death which hath lost the sting, All its fellows up to a life in endless triumphing, — I a king, and thou a king, and this King to be our King.