HE might have reared a palace at a word, Who sometimes had not where to lay His head. Time was when He who nourished crowds with bread, Would not one meal unto Himself afford. He healed another's scratch, His own side bled; Side, hands and feet with cruel piercings gored. Twelve legions girded with angelic sword Stood at His beck, the scorned, and buffeted. Oh, wonderful the wonders left undone! Yet not more wonderful than those He wrought! Oh, self-restraint, surpassing human thought! To have all power, yet be as having none! Oh, self-denying love, that thought alone For needs of others, never for its own! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE OLD MEN by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS THE BETTER PART by MATTHEW ARNOLD UPON THE NIPPLES OF JULIA'S BREAST by ROBERT HERRICK HAUNTED HOUSES by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW UNDER THE SHADE OF THE TREES [MAY 10, 1863] by MARGARET JUNKIN PRESTON THE HAPPY LOVER by PHILIP AYRES THE MAID VAR MY BRIDE by WILLIAM BARNES |