Christina Rossetti

Feast of Christina Rossetti, Poet, 1894 "I have not sought Thee, I have not found Thee, I have not read more

Feast of Christina Rossetti, Poet, 1894 "I have not sought Thee, I have not found Thee, I have not thirsted for Thee: And now cold billows of death surround me, Buffeting billows of death astound me, Wilt Thou look upon, wilt Thou see Thy perishing me?" "Yea, I have sought thee, yea, I have found thee, Yea, I have thirsted for thee, Yea, long ago with love's bands I bound thee: Now the Everlasting Arms surround thee, Through death's darkness I look and see And clasp thee to Me.".

Feast of Christina Rossetti, Poet, 1894 At morn I plucked a rose and give it Thee, A rose of joy read more

Feast of Christina Rossetti, Poet, 1894 At morn I plucked a rose and give it Thee, A rose of joy and happy love and peace, A rose with scarce a thorn: But in the chillness of a second morn My rose bush drooped, and all its gay increase Was but one thorn that wounded me. I plucked the thorn and offered it to Thee, And for my thorn Thou gavest love and peace, Not joy this mortal morn: If Thou hast given much treasure for a thorn, Wilt Thou not give me for my rose increase Of gladness, and all sweets to me? My thorny rose, my love and pain, to Thee I offer, and I set my heart in peace, And rest upon my thorn: For verily I think to-morrow morn Shall bring me Paradise, my gift's increase, Yea, give Thy very Self to me.

Feast of Christina Rossetti, Poet, 1894 What can I give Him Poor as I am? If I were a shepherd, read more

Feast of Christina Rossetti, Poet, 1894 What can I give Him Poor as I am? If I were a shepherd, I would give Him a lamb, If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part, -- But what I can, I give Him, Give my heart.

I might show facts as plain as day: but, since your eyes are blind, you'd say, "Where? What?" and turn read more

I might show facts as plain as day: but, since your eyes are blind, you'd say, "Where? What?" and turn away.

Feast of Christina Rossetti, Poet, 1894 A Better Resurrection I have no wit, no words, no tears; My heart read more

Feast of Christina Rossetti, Poet, 1894 A Better Resurrection I have no wit, no words, no tears; My heart within me like a stone Is numbed too much for hopes or fears. Look right, look left, I dwell alone; I lift mine eyes, but dimmed with grief No everlasting hills I see; My life is in the falling leaf: O Jesus, quicken me. My life is like a faded leaf, My harvest dwindled to a husk: Truly my life is void and brief And tedious in the barren dusk; My life is like a frozen thing, No bud nor greenness can I see: Yet rise it shall--the sap of spring; O Jesus, rise in me. My life is like a broken bowl, A broken bowl that cannot hold One drop of water for my soul Or cordial in the searching cold; Cast in the fire the perished thing; Melt and remould it, till it be A royal cup for Him, my King: O Jesus, drink of me.