THE dreadful burden of our sins we feel, The pain of wounds which Thou alone canst heal, To whom our weakness is our strong appeal. From the black depths, the ashes, and the dross Of our waste lives, we reach out to Thy cross, And by its fulness measure all our loss! That holy sign reveals Thee: throned above No Moloch sits, no false, vindictive Jove -- Thou art our Father, and Thy name is Love! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO GOD THE FATHER by KATHERINE MANSFIELD HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER by ROBERT BURNS MADAGASCAR: AUBADE by WILLIAM DAVENANT CHURCH MONUMENTS by GEORGE HERBERT AN ODE TO HIMSELF by BEN JONSON MY BIRD by EMILY CHUBBUCK JUDSON |