HARD by a brook, whose stream Lake Leman feeds, A wayside chapel stands,—such seems it still; But strains devout no more its echoes fill, And thence unbless'd the passing pilgrim speeds; His toil-worn oxen, when he thither leads, At noon descending from the sun-scorch'd hill, Trac'd on that wall with rude but reverent skill, The sacred cross no more the peasant heeds. If with such joy rejoic'd the angels, when The ox was loos'd in Bethlehem's lowly shed, His crib the cradle of the Virgin-born; How must they weep to see, despis'd of men, The spot His presence blest, worn by the tread Of saints, that floor hoof-trampled and uptorn! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...I PAY MY DEBT FOR LAFAYETTE AND ROCHAMBEAU' by EDGAR LEE MASTERS MADEIRA FROM THE SEA by SARA TEASDALE TO AN AEOLIAN HARP by SARA TEASDALE MONUMENT MOUNTAIN by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT IN THE NEOLITHIC AGE by RUDYARD KIPLING THE COLLEGE COLONEL by HERMAN MELVILLE UPON MY LADY CARLISLE'S WALKING IN HAMPTON COURT GARDEN by JOHN SUCKLING IN ANSWER TO QUESTION FROM GREEK GRAMMAR: WHAT FUTURES SPEAK by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |