I crawle, I creep; my Christ, I come To Thee, for curing Balsamum: Thou hast, nay more, Thou art the Tree, Affording salve of Soveraigntie. My mouth I'le lay unto Thy wound Bleeding, that no Blood touch the ground: For, rather then one drop shall fall To wast, my JESU, I'le take all. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MAHMOUD by JAMES HENRY LEIGH HUNT THE TWO OLD BACHELORS by EDWARD LEAR SONNETS ON PICTURES: MARY MAGDALEN AT THE DOOR OF SIMON THE PHARISEE by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 9 by ALFRED TENNYSON PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 3. AR-RAHEEM by EDWIN ARNOLD QUIETNESS by ANNE MILLAY BREMER THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF POOR MAILIE by ROBERT BURNS VERSES, SPOKEN EXTEMPORE AT THE MEETING OF A CLUB by JOHN BYROM |