Ancient of days! What word is thy command <br />To one befooled of wit and his own way? <br />What counsel hast thou, and what chastening hand <br />For a lost soul grown old in its dismay? <br />What penance shall he do, what ransom pay, <br />Of blood poured out for faith in a far land, <br />What mute knee--service, weeping here to--day, <br />In words of prayer no ear shall understand? <br />Let him thy servant be, the least of all <br />In the Lord's Courts, but near thy mysteries, <br />To touch the crumbs which from thy table fall, <br />Let him--. But lo, thou speakest: ``Not with these <br />Is God delighted. Get thee homeward hence. <br />They need thee more who wait deliverance!''<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-new-pilgrimage-sonnet-xxxix/
