 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
32
DAVID.
It is not for thy throne and diadem,Nor for the prowess of thy ruddy youth,
Nor skill with gentle minstrelsy to soothe
The spirit in its griefs, and banish them,
We count thee blest; these lesser stars of praise
May well in lustrous beauty round thee blaze,
Anointed monarch of Jerusalem;
But, that omniscient truth hath titled thee
Man after God's own heart,—this name alone
Doth to its highest mortal glory raise,
And leave us wondering here; O favour'd one,
As to my Saviour's symbol, reverent
And with such worship as befitteth me,
So would I greet thee, royal penitent.
| Three Hundred Sonnets | |