Time was when ye were powerless, To shrive and sign, anoint and bless. Clasped, ye worshipped from afar, That Host, as distant as a star. Your palms were barren still, and cold, Ye might not touch, ye might not hold, God, Whom the signs of bread enfold. But now, ah, now, most happy hands, Ye fold the Saviour's swaddling bands, Ye lift His tender limbs and keep. The snowy bed where He doth sleep. His heart, His blood, His being fair. All God and Man is in your care! Ye are His guardians everywhere. Ye pour the wine, ye break the bread, For the great Supper, sweet and dread! Ye dress the rood of sacrifice, Whereon the morning Victim lies, And when my trembling accent calls, Swift leaping from His Heaven's walls, On you the Light of Glory falls! You are the altar, where I see The Lamb that bled on Calvary, As sacred as the chalice shrine, Wherein doth glow the Blood divine. As sacred as the pyx are ye, Oh happy hands -- an angel's fee! That clasp the Lord of Majesty! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BIRDS by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS FRAGMENT, ON THE BACK OF THE POET'S MS. OF CANTO I OF 'DON JUAN' by GEORGE GORDON BYRON TO THE LADIES by MARY LEE CHUDLEIGH MADLY SINGING IN THE MOUNTAINS by PO CHU-YI SONG OF THE SPANISH JEWS by GRACE AGUILAR HYMN TO CONTENT by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 39. NOT CHRIST, BUT CHRIST'S GOD by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |