 | The hours of the passion and other poems |  |
MORNING
O Saviour, let me go!
Who can withstand that cry?
That piercing cry that rings
Where none but foes are nigh;
The moan of scourgèd slave,
The sobs of friendless child,
Oh, let me serve and save
Thy helpless, Thy reviled!
Oh, let me hence in haste,
Thy prisoners to unbind,
Thy famishing and faint to feed,
Thy little ones to find;
Thy lost, thy lambs, to find.
Let me go!
Who can withstand that cry?
That piercing cry that rings
Where none but foes are nigh;
The moan of scourgèd slave,
The sobs of friendless child,
Oh, let me serve and save
Thy helpless, Thy reviled!
Oh, let me hence in haste,
Thy prisoners to unbind,
Thy famishing and faint to feed,
Thy little ones to find;
Thy lost, thy lambs, to find.
Let me go!
I will not let thee go!
Am I, then, savèd? See!
Pity nor help is none
This hour for Mine or Me.
Mine eyes are blind with blood,
My moan is in thine ear;
Where mangled worms lie low
Thy place is with me here.
I will not let thee go!
Am I, then, savèd? See!
5
This hour for Mine or Me.
Mine eyes are blind with blood,
My moan is in thine ear;
Where mangled worms lie low
Thy place is with me here.
I will not let thee go!
| The hours of the passion and other poems | |