Emily Pauline Johnson (Эмили Полин Джонсон)

Brier - Good Friday

    Because, dear Christ, your tender, wounded arm
        Bends back the brier that edges life's long way,
    That no hurt comes to heart, to soul no harm,
        I do not feel the thorns so much to-day.

    Because I never knew your care to tire,
        Your hand to weary guiding me aright,
    Because you walk before and crush the brier,
        It does not pierce my feet so much to-night.

    Because so often you have hearkened to
        My selfish prayers, I ask but one thing now,
    That these harsh hands of mine add not unto
        The crown of thorns upon your bleeding brow.

1. Joe - An Etching
2. Re-Voyage
3. The Art of Alma-Tadema
4. Penseroso
5. Low Tide at St. Andrews

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1885

Последние стихотворения

To English version