FROM the Baptismal hour, thro' weal and woe, The Church extends her care to thought and deed; Nor quits the Body when the Soul is freed, The mortal weight cast off to be laid low. Blest Rite for him who hears in faith, "I know That my Redeemer liveth," -- hears each word That follows -- striking on some kindred chord Deep in the thankful heart; -- yet tears will flow. Man is as grass that springeth up at morn, Grows green, and is cut down and withereth Ere nightfall -- truth that well may claim a sigh, Its natural echo; but hope comes reborn At Jesu's bidding. We rejoice, "O Death, Where is thy Sting? -- O Grave, where is thy Victory?" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OUR ITALIAN JOURNEY by JULIEN AUGUSTE PELAGE BRIZEUX UNDAUNTED EVERGREENS by MARY JANE CARR WHERE WE AGREE by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES THE WILD GALLANT, REVIVED: PROLOGUE by JOHN DRYDEN THE ETERNAL CHRIST by WILLIAM ARTHUR DUNKERLEY THE TWO VIEWS by WILLIAM ARTHUR DUNKERLEY |