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Oscar Wilde - E Tenebris
Work rating: Medium

COME down, O Christ, and help me! reach thy hand,
            For I am drowning in a stormier sea
            Than Simon on thy lake of Galilee:
The wine of life is spilt upon the sand,
My heart is as some famine-murdered land,
            Whence all good things have perished utterly,
            And well I know my soul in Hell must lie
If I this night before God`s throne should stand.
"He sleeps perchance, or rideth to the chase,
            Like Baal, when his prophets howled that name             

            From 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.
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