COME down, O Christ, and help me! reach thy hand,
For I am drowning in a stormier sea
Than Simon on thy lake of Galilee:
The wine of life is spilt upon the sand,
My heart is as some famine-murdered land,
Whence all good things have perished utterly,
And well I know my soul in Hell must lie
If I this night before God's throne should stand.
"He sleeps perchance, or rideth to the chase,
Like Baal, when his prophets howled that name
From morn to noon on Carmel's smitten height."
Nay, peace, I shall behold before the night,
The feet of brass, the robe more white than flame,
The wounded hands, the weary human face.
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Comments
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This is such a beautiful poem. It has such an underlying depth to it. This type of poetry is rarely ever possessed and even slimmer used.
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Breathtaking in it's depth of emotion, such depth of feeling is rare to find in poetry these days
'My heart is as some famine-murdered land,
Whence all good things have perished
utterly,'
since when has such utter dejection been so poignantly and honestly expressed, the sinews of the heart stripped to the core.
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re: E Tenebris
That was a beautifully written piece of poetry... I can't believe no one has commented on this!
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