NOT thee, ourselves on thee for cross, O Lord, Herein we see; feeling the whole world hang Distraught, and knowing not whence comes the pang, Nor how its hands and feet are bound with cord Of hate and nailed with longing to the abhorred Tree of its grief, nor that the word which rang (In its cheated ear) of pleasure only sprang From its own pain's delirium: now, O stored With sap of a new spring, grow with us one! That, then thy perfect crucifixion, Teach us; which known, the healing virtue works: Dying, we have no strength except we die. In dreams of a green tree what madness lurks, But O what blossoming beauty in the dry! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ODE TO EVENING by WILLIAM COLLINS (1721-1759) TETHYS' FESTIVAL: SHADOWS by SAMUEL DANIEL A WIFE IN LONDON by THOMAS HARDY THE MAY QUEEN by ALFRED TENNYSON JERUSALEM; THE EMANATION OF THE GIANT ALBION: CHAPTER 1 by WILLIAM BLAKE MOONSTRUCK by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 4. A CHILD AT A WINDOW by EDWARD CARPENTER |