 | Jones Very : The Complete Poems |  |
198
The Broken Bowl
The fountain flows, but where the bowl
To catch from heaven the living stream;
That ever shall refresh the soul,
And make life's ills a passing dream?
To catch from heaven the living stream;
That ever shall refresh the soul,
And make life's ills a passing dream?
'Tis broken at the cistern, broke;
Its waters spilled upon the ground;
The words of old, the preacher spoke,
I too their truth like him have found.
Its waters spilled upon the ground;
The words of old, the preacher spoke,
I too their truth like him have found.
Prepare, prepare new vessels still,
Though broken fragments round thee lie;
Thou must from hence thy pitcher fill,
And often drink, or thou wilt die.
Though broken fragments round thee lie;
Thou must from hence thy pitcher fill,
And often drink, or thou wilt die.
Behold the Rock, that smitten gave
To Israel on the burning sand,
Life, in its cool, refreshing wave;
'Twill flow when smitten by thy hand.
To Israel on the burning sand,
Life, in its cool, refreshing wave;
'Twill flow when smitten by thy hand.
Ho all that thirst! come, drink ye all!
The fountain pours its waters free;
Come, heed the prophet's early call,
Fashion new bowls and draw with me.
The fountain pours its waters free;
Come, heed the prophet's early call,
Fashion new bowls and draw with me.
Poem No. 501; late 1839
| Jones Very : The Complete Poems | |