Classic Poem

Contempt and pangs and haunting fears —
Too late for hope, too late for ease,
Too late for rising from the dead;
Too late, too late to bend my knees,
Or bow my head,
Or weep, or ask for tears.

Hark! . . . One I hear Who calls to me:
" Give Me thy thorn and grief and scorn,
Give Me thy ruin and regret.
Press on thro' darkness toward the morn:
One loves thee yet:
Have I forgotten thee? "

Lord, Who art Thou? Lord, is it Thou
My Lord and God Lord Jesus Christ?
How said I that I sat alone
And desolate and unsufficed?
Surely a stone
Would raise Thy praises now!