ONCE more the dead Christ lies—borne down the ages. O precious head, still fragrant with the box of ointment broken, O feet for kisses, Thin shrunken knees, and hands yet worn with toil, Dear Mother bending over, breathing clouds Of love and pity! Ah! the cruel fate! Sweet lips she suckled, hands that pressed so small Against her breasts—pierced now with shameful wounds! The dead-pale face so gentle, the dear god She brought forth on the Earth! O People crucified in every land, Mothers in all the earth weeping your sons! Sisters and lovers kissing the feet of love, Poor way-worn feet, gross toil-disfigured hands, So loved, so loved! Once more the dead Christ lies—borne down the ages. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CUBA LIBRA [APRIL, 1896] by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER THE NIGHT COURT by RUTH COMFORT MITCHELL THE CORAL GROVE by JAMES GATES PERCIVAL AN EPITAPH ON A DUTCH CAPTAIN by PHILIP AYRES REINCARNATION by J. R. I. BROOKE ELEGY ON CAPTAIN MATTHEW HENDERSON by ROBERT BURNS EPITAPH ON JAMES GRIEVE, THE LAIRD OF BOGHEAD by ROBERT BURNS |