(In the National Gallery) TURN not the prophet's page, O Son! He knew All that thou hast to suffer, and hath writ. Not yet thine hour of knowledge. Infinite The sorrows that thy manhood's lot must rue And dire acquaintance of thy grief. That clue The spirits of thy mournful ministerings Seek through yon scroll in silence. For these things The angels have desired to look into. Still before Eden waves the fiery sword,-- Her Tree of Life unransomed: whose sad Tree Of Knowledge yet to growth of Calvary Must yield its Tempter,--Hell the earliest dead Of Earth resign,--and yet, O Son and Lord, The Seed o' the woman bruise the serpent's head. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...POETS ARE BORN NOT MADE by ROBERT FROST WHAT THING A BIRD WOULD LOVE by ROBERT FROST AFTERGLOW by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON NOBODY'S LOOKIN' BUT DE OWL AND DE MOON (A NEGRO SERENADE) by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE JOY OF THE HILLS by EDWIN MARKHAM BRUTUS LIVES AGAIN IN BOOTH by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ALONZO CHURCHILL by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |