INCARNATE Word, who, wont to dwell In lowly shape and cottage cell, Didst not refuse a guest to be, At Cana's poor festivity: Oh, when our soul from care is free, Then, Saviour, may we think on Thee, And, seated at the festal board, In fancy's eye behold the Lord. Then may we seem, in fancy's ear, Thy manna-dropping tongue to hear, And think, -- even now, Thy searching gaze Each secret of our soul surveys! So may such joy, chastised and pure, Beyond the bounds of earth endure! Nor pleasure in the wounded mind Shall leave a rankling sting behind. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WINTER TREES by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS EARTH'S IMMORTALITIES: LOVE by ROBERT BROWNING THE HAPPY NIGHTINGALE by PHILIP AYRES IN A GARDEN by PAULINE B. BARRINGTON IDYLL 7. OF HYACINTHUS by BION MY OWN EPITAPH by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) SEAWARD by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON A SOLILOQUY ON READING 'A DISPUTE ABOUT FAITH AND WORKS' by JOHN BYROM |