IT is the greatness of Thy love, dear Lord, that we would celebrate With sevenfold powers. Our love at best is cold and poor, at best unseemly for Thy state, This best of ours. Creatures that die, we yet are such as Thine own hands deigned to create: We frail as flowers, We bitter bondslaves ransomed at a price incomparably great To grace Heaven's bowers. Thou callest: 'Come at once' -- and still Thou callest us: 'Come late, tho' late' -- (The moments fly) -- 'Come, every one that thirsteth, come -- Come prove Me, knocking at My gate' -- (Some souls draw nigh!) -- 'Come thou who waiting seekest Me -- Come thou for whom I seek and wait' -- (Why will we die?) -- 'Come and repent: come and amend: come joy the joys unsatiate' -- -- (Christ passeth by ...) -- Lord, pass not by -- I come -- and I -- and I. Amen. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE LEAVES by HAYDEN CARRUTH CONTRA MORTEM: THE WHEEL OF BEING II by HAYDEN CARRUTH PROMISE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SURFACES AND MASKS; 1 by CLARENCE MAJOR CHANSON INNOCENTE: 2 by EDWARD ESTLIN CUMMINGS TO DAFFODILS by ROBERT HERRICK FOR DECORATION DAY: 1898-1899 by RUPERT HUGHES |