Poems

Poem

 

Appearing on the lofty altars.
Held in boxes locked with gold.
There appears love consecrated.
a sacrifice for young and old.

Protected by the law of canon.
Brushed aside by scoffers tales.
Sits a host within a chalice
A hope for man which never fails.

Hope of hopes we find him waiting.
Man of Sorrows what a claim,
Neither fame nor fortune wanting.
Ever waiting, ever same.

Draw close to me He’s ever calling,
Lay your hurts upon my breast,
Come and spend one hour with Me,
I will give you peace and rest.

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