O BLESSED bodie! whither art thou thrown? No lodging for thee, but a cold hard stone? So many hearts on earth, and yet not one Receive thee? Sure there is room within our hearts good store; For they can lodge transgressions by the score: Thousands of toyes dwell there, yet out of doore They leave thee. But that which shews them large shews them unfit. Whatever sinne did this pure rock commit, Which holds thee now? Who hath indited it Of murder? Where our hard hearts have took up stones to brain thee, And missing this, most falsely did arraigne thee; Onely these stones in quiet entertain thee, And order. And as of old the law, by heav'nly art, Was writ in stone; so thou, which also art The letter of the word, find'st no fit heart To hold thee. Yet do we still persist as we began, And so should perish, but that nothing can, Though it be cold, hard, foul, from loving man Withhold thee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...YOUNG SAMMY'S FIRST WILD OATS by GEORGE SANTAYANA EVENING (1) by EMILY DICKINSON A LAST PRAYER by HELEN MARIA HUNT FISKE JACKSON SONNET ON CATHERINE WORDSWORTH by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH A PRAYER by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) SONNET TO A FRIEND by BERNARD BARTON |