|
|
To Christ.
By Robert Herrick
I crawl, I creep; my Christ, I come
To Thee for curing balsamum:
Thou hast, nay more, Thou art the tree
Affording salve of sovereignty.
My mouth I'll lay unto Thy wound
Bleeding, that no blood touch the ground:
For, rather than one drop shall fall
To waste, my JESU, I'll take all.
Extra Info:
|
|
Printable Page
Add Your Thoughts on this poem.
This page viewed 368 times.
|
|
