Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE YOUNG PRIEST TO HIS HANDS, by EDWARD FRANCIS GARESCHE First Line: Time was when ye were powerless, / to shrive and sign, anoint and bless Last Line: That clasp the lord of majesty! Subject(s): Clergy; Religion; Priests; Rabbis; Ministers; Bishops; Theology | ||||||||
Time was when ye were powerless, To shrive and sign, anoint and bless. Clasped, ye worshipped from afar, That Host, as distant as a star. Your palms were barren still, and cold, Ye might not touch, ye might not hold, God, Whom the signs of bread enfold. But now, ah, now, most happy hands, Ye fold the Saviour's swaddling bands, Ye lift His tender limbs and keep. The snowy bed where He doth sleep. His heart, His blood, His being fair. All God and Man is in your care! Ye are His guardians everywhere. Ye pour the wine, ye break the bread, For the great Supper, sweet and dread! Ye dress the rood of sacrifice, Whereon the morning Victim lies, And when my trembling accent calls, Swift leaping from His Heaven's walls, On you the Light of Glory falls! You are the altar, where I see The Lamb that bled on Calvary, As sacred as the chalice shrine, Wherein doth glow the Blood divine. As sacred as the pyx are ye, Oh happy hands -- an angel's fee! That clasp the Lord of Majesty! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MYSTIC BOUNCE by TERRANCE HAYES MATHEMATICS CONSIDERED AS A VICE by ANTHONY HECHT UNHOLY SONNET 11 by MARK JARMAN SHINE, PERISHING REPUBLIC by ROBINSON JEFFERS THE COMING OF THE PLAGUE by WELDON KEES A LITHUANIAN ELEGY by ROBERT KELLY SUN-BROWNED WITH TOIL by EDWARD FRANCIS GARESCHE |
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