Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, YE DID IT UNTO ME, by PHOEBE CARY


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

YE DID IT UNTO ME, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Sinner, careless, proud, and cold
Last Line: Of his awful sacrifice!
Subject(s): Jesus Christ - Suffering & Sacrifice


SINNER, careless, proud, and cold,
Straying from the sheltering fold,
Hast thou thought how patiently
The Good Shepherd follows thee;
Still with tireless, toiling feet,
Through the tempest and the heat --
Thought upon that yearning breast,
Where He fain would have thee rest,
And of all its tender pain,
While He seeks for thee in vain?

Dost thou know what He must feel,
Making vainly his appeal:
When He knocketh at thy door
Present entrance to implore;
Saying, "Open unto Me,
I will come and sup with thee" --
Forced to turn away at last
From the portal shut and fast?
Wilt thou careless slumber on,
Even till thy Lord has gone,
Heedless of his high behest,
His desire to be thy guest?

Sinner, sinner, dost thou know
What it is to slight Him so?
Sitting careless by the sea
While He calleth, "Follow me";
Sleeping, thoughtless, unaware
Of his agonizing prayer,
While thy sins his soul o'erpower,
And thou canst not watch one hour?
Our infirmities He bore,
And our mortal form He wore;
Yea, our Lord was made to be
Here in all things like as we,
And, that pardon we might win,
He, the sinless, bare our sin!

Sinner, though He comes no more
Faint and fasting to thy door,
His disciples here instead
Thou canst give the cup and bread.
If his lambs thou dost not feed,
He it is that feels their need:
He that suffers their distress,
Hunger, thirst, and weariness:
He that loving them again
Beareth all their bitter pain!
Canst thou then so reckless prove,
Canst thou, darest thou slight his love?

Do not, sinner, for thy sake
Make Him still the cross to take,
And ascend again for thee
Dark and dreadful Calvary!
Do not set the crown of pain
On that sacred head again;
Open all afresh and wide
Closed wounds in hands and side.
Do not, do not scorn his name,
Putting Him to open shame!

Oh, by all the love He knew,
For his followers, dear and true;
By the sacred tears He wept
At the tomb where Lazarus slept;
By Gethsemane's bitter cry,
That the cup might pass Him by;
By that wail of agony,
Why hast thou forsaken me?
By that last and heaviest stroke,
When his heart for sinners broke,
Do not let Him lose the price
Of his awful sacrifice!





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