CONTEMPT and pangs and haunting fears -- Too late for hope, too late for ease, Too late for rising from the dead; Too late, too late to bend my knees, Or bow my head, Or weep, or ask for tears. Hark! . . . One I hear Who calls to me: 'Give Me thy thorn and grief and scorn, Give Me thy ruin and regret. Press on thro' darkness toward the morn: One loves thee yet: Have I forgotten thee?' Lord, Who art Thou? Lord, is it Thou My Lord and God Lord Jesus Christ? How said I that I sat alone And desolate and unsufficed? Surely a stone Would raise Thy praises now! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AUGUST FIRST by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE SMALLISH SON by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE HILL ABOVE THE MINE by MALCOLM COWLEY FOR THE INVESTITURE by CECIL DAY LEWIS A GUY I KNOW ON 47TH AND COTTAGE by CLARENCE MAJOR DOMESDAY BOOK: CHARLES WARREN, THE SHERIFF by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |