O PROPHET, tell me not of peace, Or Christ's all-loving deeds; Death only can from sin release, And death to judgment leads. Thou from thy birth hast set thy face Towards thy Redeemer Lord; To tend and deck His holy place And note His secret word. I ne'er shall reach Heaven's glorious path; Yet haply tears may stay The purpose of His instant wrath, And slake the fiery day. Then plead for one who cannot pray, Whose faith is but despair, Who hates his heart, nor puts away The sin that rankles there. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET: OF THREE GIRLS AND OF THEIR TALK by GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO JIM BLUDSO [OF THE PRAIRIE BELLE] by JOHN MILTON HAY STRANGE MEETINGS: 10 by HAROLD MONRO THE PASSOVER IN THE HOLY FAMILY (FOR A DRAWING) by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI A LITTLE PARABLE by ANNE REEVE ALDRICH THE WARTONS AND OTHER EARLY ROMANTIC LANDSCAPE-POETS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |