ONCE cast with men of language strange And foreign-moulded creed, I mark'd their random converse change, And sacred themes succeed. Oh, how I coveted the gift To thread their mingled throng Of sounds, then high my witness lift But weakness chain'd my tongue. Lord! has our dearth of faith and prayer Lost us this power once given Or is it sent at seasons rare And then flits back to heaven? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IMAGINARY ANCESTORS: THE GIRAFFE WOMAN OF BURMA by MADELINE DEFREES THE CAT OF CATS by WILLIAM BRIGHTY RANDS COURAGE THAT OVERCOMES by MARGARETE ROSE AKIN THE PIONEER'S FIELD by RICHARD BECK TO THE BELGIANS by LAURENCE BINYON POOR CHILD by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES |