E Tenebris

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