My shoulders ache beneath my pack (Lie easier, Cross, upon His back). I march with feet that burn and smart (Tread, Holy Feet, upon my heart). Men shout at me who may not speak (They scourged Thy back and smote Thy cheek). I may not lift a hand to clear My eyes of salty drops that sear. (Then shall my fickle soul forget Thy Agony of Bloody Sweat?) My rifle hand is stiff and numb (From Thy pierced palm red rivers come). Lord, Thou didst suffer more for me Than all the hosts of land and sea. So let me render back again This millionth of Thy gift. Amen. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...REMEMBRANCE by JOHN HENRY BONER BOATS IN A FOG by ROBINSON JEFFERS HE WROTE THE HISTORY BOOK,' IT SAID by MARIANNE MOORE AN ATHENIAN GARDEN by TRUMBULL STICKNEY CELESTIAL HEIGHTS by ALFRED AUSTIN FROM THE GRASS by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON WITH CORSE AT ALLATOONA by SAMUEL HAWKINS MARSHALL BYERS PROVERBIAL PHILOSOPHY: OF READING by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY |