And will they cast the altars down, Scatter the chalice, crush the bread? In field, in village, and in town He hides an unregarded head; Waits in the corn-lands far and near, Bright in His sun, dark in His frost, Sweet in the vine, ripe in the ear -- Lonely unconsecrated Host. In ambush at the merry board The Victim lurks unsacrificed; The mill conceals the harvest's Lord, The wine-press holds the unbidden Christ. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NEW YEAR'S EVE by GEORGE ARNOLD THE BIRD-BOY by ROBERT BLOOMFIELD ON CITY STREETS by MARGARET E. BRUNER FUNERAL MASS: REQUIEM by BORIS NIKOLAYEVICH BUGAYEV THE RED BOX AT VESEY STREET by HENRY CUYLER BUNNER ON A DAMASK ROSE STICKING UPON A LADY'S BREAST by THOMAS CAREW CONSOLATION by HAZEL REESE COLLINS |