I am not here alone. A hidden throng
Is round me in the vesper of the sky.
Dead Babylon and Nineveh are nigh;
Rome, Antioch; the slave who felt the thong;
The lord that slew him when the day was long
And the soul heavy with satiety.
And some are near who saw the Christ go by;
While Pilate shut aloof, at gaze with wrong.
And what are they these ministers surround?
The cliff, the sand, the island at my feet
Reef-scattered far below all human ken.
Lo! God hath made a mighty angel beat
His wings, a benediction in their sound,
Above the roof of the most forlorn of men
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Comments about this poem (Lowry Bay by Hubert Church )
- Undercurrents, Michael Mira
- ~True Love ~, Aftab Alam
- A Country on Its Knees, mai venn
- Uncontrollable Poet, Erato
- Clocks, fiona sinclair
- Day Tripper, fiona sinclair
- Internet Dating, fiona sinclair
- Precious life it is!, Gangadharan nair Pulingat..
- Family portrait, fiona sinclair
- Post dated appointment, fiona sinclair
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