THE dreadful burden of our sins we feel, The pain of wounds which Thou alone canst heal, To whom our weakness is our strong appeal. From the black depths, the ashes, and the dross Of our waste lives, we reach out to Thy cross, And by its fulness measure all our loss! That holy sign reveals Thee: throned above No Moloch sits, no false, vindictive Jove -- Thou art our Father, and Thy name is Love! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HELEN AND THETIS by ALCAEUS OF MYTILENE THE LAY OF THE LEVITE by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN CAN YOU HEAR IT? by THERESA DRULEY BLACK THE CLOISTER OF THE FALLING SNOW by SYLVIA HORTENSE BLISS LORD ROBERTS by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB WHERE'S AGNES? by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING STRATHALLAN'S LAMENT by ROBERT BURNS MASQUE AT THE MARRIAGE OF THE EARL OF SOMERSET: FIRST SQUIRE (1) by THOMAS CAMPION |