 | The hours of the passion and other poems |  |
DAY
O Sovereign, let me go!
It is the prime of day;
Fresh flowers I go to find,
I know the cool, green way.
Down in Thy garden grows
The Flower of Silence sweet,
Thy garden of the Rose,
Where all the Roses meet.
Thy Roses wait—they know
Their secret—soon to fall;
Their heads bow down to make a crown,
For Thee, the King of all;—
To crown Thee King of all.
Let me go!
It is the prime of day;
Fresh flowers I go to find,
I know the cool, green way.
Down in Thy garden grows
The Flower of Silence sweet,
Thy garden of the Rose,
Where all the Roses meet.
Thy Roses wait—they know
Their secret—soon to fall;
Their heads bow down to make a crown,
For Thee, the King of all;—
To crown Thee King of all.
Let me go!
I will not let thee go!
Nor loose thine iron bands;
Here am I King, and thou
The victim of My hands.
I wear a crown of thorns,
My raiment drips with red;
And the same crowning sign
I bind upon thy head.
I will not let thee go!
Nor loose thine iron bands;
Here am I King, and thou
The victim of My hands.
I wear a crown of thorns,
My raiment drips with red;
And the same crowning sign
I bind upon thy head.
I will not let thee go!
| The hours of the passion and other poems | |