HE set us free— To bear the yoke— "Let them serve Me," 'Twas thus He spoke. He called us "Mine," Not for desire, To be call'd Thine Meant sword and fire, And anguish sharp— In ev'ry land The exile's harp Forgot his hand. They reap'd their own; God's Acre ours! On graves alone, Might we grow flowers. But oh! worth while, Strong love divine Outcast, or vile— To be call'd Thine. To feel Thy love Like shepherding— Like brooding dove, Like eagle's wing! As mothers speak To sons distrest, The sore and weak Thou comfortest. Oh! worth the cost, And welcome pain! World's love well lost Thy love to gain. We will serve Thee, As Jacob swore, "This God shall be Mine evermore!" His oath we swear, His blessing take; Thy yoke we bear For Thy name's sake! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: HILDRUP TUBBS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS ISAIAH, JEREMIAH, EXEKIEL, DANIEL by MARIANNE MOORE WHERE A ROMAN VILLA STOOD, ABOVE FREIBURG' by MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE THE PRIVATE OF THE BUFFS; OR, THE BRITISH SOLDIER IN CHINA by FRANCIS HASTINGS CHARLES DOYLE THE LILY IN CRYSTAL by ROBERT HERRICK SONNET: THE EVENING STAR by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY |