WE look with scorn on Peter's thrice told lie; Boldly we say, "Good brother! you nor I, So near the sacred Lord, the Christ, indeed, Had dared His name and marvellous grace deny." Oh, futile boast! Oh, haughty lips, be dumb! Unheralded by boisterous trump or drum, How oft' mid silent eves and midnight chimes, Vainly to us our pleading Lord hath come -- Knocked at our hearts, and striven to enter there; But we poor slaves of mortal sin and care, Sunk in deep sloth, or bound by spiritual sleep, Heard not the voice divine, the tender prayer! Ah! well for us if some late spring-tide hour Faith still may bring, with blended shine and shower; If through warm tears a late remorse may shed, Our wakened souls put forth @3one@1 heavenly flower! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET: 17. TO SIR HENRY VANE THE YOUNGER by JOHN MILTON MOLLY PITCHER [JUNE 28, 1778] by LAURA ELIZABETH HOWE RICHARDS AGAMEMNON: THE PURPLE CARPER by AESCHYLUS ODES: BOOK 2: ODE 1 by MARK AKENSIDE DEAD IN HIS BED by ADDIE LUCIA BALLOU THE DESCENT OF TIMOTHY by JAMES HAY BEATTIE UNDER THE PINES by ARTHUR STANLEY BOURINOT |