When I behold Thee, almost slain, With one, and all parts, full of pain: When I Thy gentle Heart do see Pierc't through, and dropping bloud, for me, I'le call, and cry out, Thanks to Thee. Vers. But yet it wounds my soule, to think, That for my sin, Thou, Thou must drink, Even Thou alone, the bitter cup Of furie, and of vengeance up. Chor. Lord, I'le not see Thee to drink all The Vineger, the Myrrhe, the Gall: Ver. Chor. But I will sip a little wine; Which done, Lord say, The rest is mine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HAWK by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS AUTUMNAL SONNET by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM THE GOLDEN AGE by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN RHAPSODY by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS QUATRAIN by CHARLES GRANGER BLANDEN THE KIRK'S ALARM by ROBERT BURNS CONTENT by MADISON JULIUS CAWEIN DEATH'S LECTURE AT THE FUNERAL OF A YOUNG GENTLEMAN by RICHARD CRASHAW |