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THE LAST SUPPER.
In thy sole, sorrowing presence, Son of God!—
I feel the breathing of those holy men,
From whom thy gospel, as on angel's wing
Went out, through all the earth.—I see how deep
Sin in the soul may lurk, and fain would kneel
Low at thy blessed feet, and trembling ask—
"Lord!—is it I?"
For who may tell, what dregs
Do slumber in his breast.—Thou, who didst taste
Of man's infirmities, yet bar his sins
From thine unspotted soul, forsake us not,
In our temptations, but so guide our feet,
That our Last Supper in this world may lead
To that immortal banquet by thy side,
Where there is no betrayer.
