TO tell the Saviour all my wants, How pleasing is the task! Nor less to praise him when he grants Beyond what I can ask. My labouring spirit vainly seeks To tell but half the joy; With how much tenderness he speaks, And helps me to reply. Nor were it wise, nor should I choose, Such secrets to declare; Like precious wines their taste they lose, Exposed to open air. But this with boldness I proclaim, Nor care if thousands hear, Sweet is the ointment of his name, Not life is half so dear. And can you frown, my former friends, Who knew what once I was; And blame the song that thus commends The Man who bore the cross? Trust me, I draw the likeness true, And not as fancy paints; Such honour may he give to you, For such have all his saints. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GUARDIAN OF THE RED DISK (SPOKEN BY A CITIZEN OF MALTA - 1300) by EMMA LAZARUS DOMESDAY BOOK: DR. TRACE TO THE CORONER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS NOT ONE TO SPARE by ETHEL LYNN BEERS ODE TO THE CUCKOO by MICHAEL BRUCE THE RESOLVE by MARY LEE CHUDLEIGH A VALEDICTION: FORBIDDING MOURNING by JOHN DONNE |