Their hands they hold across the altar-rail, From various need reached toward a common hope. In scraps of prayer and errant thought they grope A solace for their souls that will not fail. O piteous hands! Poor, puny hands! too frail, Were you outstretched by emperor or pope, To grasp the titan world, with sin to cope, -- Gnarled, jeweled, soiled, thin, palsied, pale. God fill these hands, of you they ask an alms. The world has given, but the hands still plead; The world has taken, you alone can fill. O love divine, heap with hid gifts these palms. O Christ's sweet love, supply each bowed soul's need, -- A human clasp moved by a heavenly will. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CRYSTAL GAZER by SARA TEASDALE OLD SUSAN by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE MY MOTHER'S BIBLE by GEORGE POPE MORRIS IT IS ENOUGH by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 17. THE CHILD by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) TREES BE COMPANY by WILLIAM BARNES |