POORE nation, whose sweet sap and juice Our cyens have purloined, and left you drie; Whose streams we got by the apostles sluce, And use in baptisme, while ye pine and die: Who, by not keeping once, became a debter; And now, by keeping, lose the letter: Oh that my prayers! mine, alas! Oh that some angel might a trumpet sound; At which the church, falling upon her face, Should crie so loud, untill the trump were drown'd; And, by that crie, of her deare Lord obtain, That your sweet sap might come again! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AT NIGHT; SONNET by AMY LOWELL ON A LADY SINGING by ISAAC ROSENBERG RAIN AFTER A VAUDEVILLE SHOW by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET THE LITTLE BLACK BOY, FR. SONGS OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE TO AN INSECT by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES UNTO US A SON IS GIVEN by ALICE MEYNELL |