Christ claims our help in many a strange disguise; Now, fever-ridden, on a bed He lies; Homeless He wanders now beneath the stars; Now counts the number of His prison bars; Now bends beside us, crowned with hoary hairs. No need have we to climb the heavenly stairs, And press our kisses on His feet and hands; In every man that suffers, He, the Man of Sorrows, stands! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FRAGMENTARY BLUE by ROBERT FROST THEY PRAISE THE SUN by JOHN CROWE RANSOM SNOW-FLAKES by MARY ELIZABETH MAPES DODGE ODES: BOOK 2: ODE 1 by MARK AKENSIDE THE LORD OF THOULOUSE; A LEGEND OF LANGUEDOC by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM THE METAMORPHOSIS OF THE WALNUT-TREE OF BOARSTELL: CANTO 1 by WILLIAM BASSE TO HIS LATE MAJESTY, CONCERNING..TRUE FORM OF ENGLISH POETRY by JOHN BEAUMONT |