I HEAR the low voice call that bids me come, -- Me, even me, with all my grief oppressed, With sins that burden my unquiet breast, And in my heart the longing that is dumb, Yet beats forever, like a muffled drum, For all delights whereof I, dispossessed, Pine and repine, and find nor peace nor rest This side the haven where He bids me come. He bids me come, and lay my sorrows down, And have my sins washed white by His dear grace; He smiles -- what matter, then, though all men frown? Naught can assail me, held in His embrace; And if His welcome home the end may crown, Shall I not hasten to that heavenly place? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ONE LIFE by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR TO THE PLIOCENE SKULL by FRANCIS BRET HARTE THE MAN-OF-WAR HAWK by HERMAN MELVILLE OUR DAILY BREAD by MALTBIE DAVENPORT BABCOCK A NEW PILGRIMAGE: 5 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE DESCENDANT AND THE ID (MONOLOGUE IN REGARD TO HEREDITY) by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH |