O MAN of my own people, I alone Among these alien ones can know thy face, I who have felt the kinship of our race Burn in me as I sit where they intone Thy praises,—those who, striving to make known A God for sacrifice, have missed the grace Of thy sweet human meaning in its place, Thou who art of our blood-bond and our own. Are we not sharers of thy Passion? Yea, In spirit-anguish closely by thy side We have drained the bitter cup, and, tortured, felt With thee the bruising of each heavy welt. In every land is our Gethsemane. A thousand times have we been crucified. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE THRUSH'S NEST by JOHN CLARE FOUR QUARTETS: BURNT NORTON by THOMAS STEARNS ELIOT A CANADIAN BOAT SONG; WRITTEN ON THE RIVER ST. LAWRENCE by THOMAS MOORE IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 11 by ALFRED TENNYSON POEM FOR PICTURE: TO A DRAWING OF A HORSE BY GEORGIO DI CHIRICO by FRANK ANKENBRAND JR. |