SORROW of saints is sorrow of a day, Gladness of saints is gladness evermore: Send on thy hope, send on thy will before, To chant God's praise along the narrow way. Stir up His praises if the flesh would sway, Exalt His praises if the world press sore, Peal out His praises if black Satan roar A hundred thousand lies to say them nay. Devil and Death and Hades, threefold cord Not quickly broken, front thee to thy face; Front thou them with a face of tenfold flint: Shout for the battle, David! never stint Body or breath or blood, but, proof in grace, Die for thy Lord, as once for thee thy Lord. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GIANT RED WOMAN by CLARENCE MAJOR SOLILOQUY OF THE SPANISH CLOISTER by ROBERT BROWNING EPITAPH ON THOMAS CLERE, SURREY'S FAITHFUL FRIEND AND FOLLOWER by HENRY HOWARD THE GROVES OF BLARNEY by RICHARD ALFRED MILLIKIN STREET CORNER COLLEGE by KENNETH PATCHEN EMIGRATION by LISA DOMINGUEZ ABRAHAM |