ART thou weary, art thou languid, art thou sore distrest? "Come to me," saith One—and, "coming, Be at rest!" Hath he mark to lead me to him—if he be my guide? In his feet and hands are wound-prints, And his side. Is there diadem, as monarch, that his brow adorns? Yea; a crown, in very surety,— Bt of thorns! If I find him, if I follow, what his guerdon here? Many a sorrow, many a labor, Many a tear! If I still hold closely to him, what hath he at last? Sorrow vanquished, labor ended, Jordan passed! If I ask him to receive me, will he say me nay? Not till earth, and not till heaven, Pass away! Tending, following, keeping, struggling, is he sure to bless? Angels, martyrs, prophets, pilgrims, Answer "Yes!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SLAVE TRADE: VIEW FROM THE MIDDLE PASSAGE by CLARENCE MAJOR JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH by EDGAR LEE MASTERS RECESSIONAL by EDGAR LEE MASTERS TO A SCREEN-MAKER by MARIANNE MOORE DEATH SNIPS PROUD MEN by CARL SANDBURG |