O MAN of my own people, I alone Among these alien ones can know thy face, I who have felt the kinship of our race Burn in me as I sit where they intone Thy praises,—those who, striving to make known A God for sacrifice, have missed the grace Of thy sweet human meaning in its place, Thou who art of our blood-bond and our own. Are we not sharers of thy Passion? Yea, In spirit-anguish closely by thy side We have drained the bitter cup, and, tortured, felt With thee the bruising of each heavy welt. In every land is our Gethsemane. A thousand times have we been crucified. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 21. BREDON HILL by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN DIRGE IN WOODS by GEORGE MEREDITH THE LAW OF THE YUKON by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 30 by ALFRED TENNYSON I SIT AND LOOK OUT by WALT WHITMAN THE TENT ON THE BEACH: 8. THE CABLE HYMN by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE BLUE BIRD by LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA |