O HOLY Lord, who with the Children Three Didst walk the piercing flame, Help, in those trial-hours, which, save to Thee I dare not name; Nor let these quivering eyes and sickening heart Crumble to dust beneath the Tempter's dart. Thou, who didst once Thy life from Mary's breast Renew from day to day, Oh, might her smile, severely sweet, but rest On this frail clay! Till I am Thine with my whole soul; and fear, Not feel a secret joy, that Hell is near. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AMERICAN NAMES by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET SONNET: TO SLEEP by JOHN KEATS ULTIMA THULE: THE CHAMBER OVER THE GATE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW AN IMITATION OF SPENCER by JOHN ARMSTRONG A SESTINA, IN IMITAION OF SIG. FRA. PETRARCA by PHILIP AYRES |