On the Miracle of the Multiplied Loaves
See here an easy feast that knows no wound, That under hunger's teeth will needs be sound; A subtle harvest of unbounded bread, What would ye more
Here food itself is fed
See here an easy feast that knows no wound, That under hunger's teeth will needs be sound; A subtle harvest of unbounded bread, What would ye more
Here food itself is fed
These houres, and that which hovers o’re my End, Into thy hands, and hart, lord,
I commend
Take Both to Thine Account, that I and mine In that Hour, and in these, may be all thine
That as I dedicate my devoutest Breath To make a kin...
Now westward Sol had spent the richest
Of noon's high glory, when, hard by the
Of Tiber, on the scene of a green plat,
Under protection of an oak, there satA sweet lute's master : in whose gentle
Thou water turn'st to wine, fair friend of life, Thy foe, to cross the sweet arts of thy reign, Distills from thence the tears of wrath and strife, And so turns wine to water back again
Here, where our Lord once laid his Head,
Now the grave lies buried
Persuading her to resolution in religion, and
Render herself without further delay into the Communion of the Catholic
What Heaven-entreated heart is this,
Stands trembling at the gate of bliss
Wouldst see blithe looks, fresh cheeks
Age
wouldst see December smile
Wouldst see nests of new roses
Whatever story of their cruelty,
Or nail, or thorn, or spear have writ in Thee, Are in another sense Still legible ; Sweet is the difference : Once I did spell Every red letter A wound of Thine ; Now, what is better, Balsam for mine
...
Lord, when the sense of thy sweet grace Sends up my soul to seek thy face
Thy blessed eyes breed such desire, I dy in love’s delicious Fire
O love,
I am thy Sacrifice
ME, we shepherds whose blest sight Hath met Love's noon in Nature's night ; Come lift up our loftier song,
And wake the sun that lies too long
To all our world of well-stol'n joy He slept, and dreamt of no such thing,
While we found...
Let it no longer be a forlorn hope To wash an Ethiop :
He's wash'd, his gloomy skin a peaceful shade For his white soul is made :
And now,
I doubt not, the Eternal Dove A black-faced house will love...
Could not once blinding me, cruel, suffice
When first I look'd on thee,
I lost mine eyes