When I behold Thee, almost slain, With one, and all parts, full of pain: When I Thy gentle Heart do see Pierc't through, and dropping bloud, for me, I'le call, and cry out, Thanks to Thee. Vers. But yet it wounds my soule, to think, That for my sin, Thou, Thou must drink, Even Thou alone, the bitter cup Of furie, and of vengeance up. Chor. Lord, I'le not see Thee to drink all The Vineger, the Myrrhe, the Gall: Ver. Chor. But I will sip a little wine; Which done, Lord say, The rest is mine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SACRED ELEGY: 5. THE SEPARATION OF MAN FROM GOD by GEORGE BARKER A PASSER-BY by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 18 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE FARM CHILD'S LULLABY by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE LAST POST by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES IN FLANDERS FIELDS by JOHN MCCRAE |