IN service o'er the Mystic Feast I stand; I cleanse Thy victim-flock, and bring them near In holiest wise, and by a bloodless rite. O fire of Love! O gushing Fount of Light! (As best I know, who need Thy pitying Hand) Dread office this, bemired souls to clear Of their defilement, and again made bright. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SAVORING THE PAST by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO THE SHADE OF PO CHU-I by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS |