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Sunday, April 5, 2020

Poem: “Ex Tenebris” by Oscar Wilde

Come down, O Christ, and help me! reach thy hand,
For I am drowning in a stormier sea
Than Simon on thy lake in Galilee;
The wine of life is spilt upon the sand,
My heart is at some famine-murdered land
Whence all good things have perished utterly,
And well I know my soul in Hell must lie
If I this night before God’s throne should stand.
“He sleeps perchance, or rideth to the chase,
Like Baal, when his prophets howled that name
From morn till noon on Carmel’s smitten height.”
Nay, peace, I shall behold before this night,
The feet of brass, the robe more white than flame,
The wounded hands, the weary human face.

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