No doubt to-morrow I will hide My face from you, my King. Let me rejoice this Sunday noon, And kneel while gray priests sing. It is not wisdom to forget. But since it is my fate Fill thou my soul with hidden wine To make this white hour great. My God, my God, this marvelous hour I am your son I know. Once in a thousand days your voice Has laid temptation low. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LITTLE VAGABOND, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE THE ARAB by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY AN ODE IN IMITATION OF ALCAEUS by WILLIAM JONES THE LAST LULLABY by HENRY BATAILLE AUTUMN WEATHER by KATHARINE LEE BATES INSTRUCTIONS FOR A BALLET by MAXWELL BODENHEIM |