At Mass

Vachel Lindsay

No doubt to-morrow I will hide
My face from you, my King.
Let me rejoice this Sunday noon,
And kneel while gray priests sing.

It is not wisdom to forget.
But since it is my fate
Fill thou my soul with hidden wine
To make this white hour great.

My God, my God, this marvelous hour
I am your son I know.
Once in a thousand days your voice
Has laid temptation low.

Next 10 Poems

• Vachel Lindsay : Beyond The Moon
• Vachel Lindsay : Blanche Sweet
• Vachel Lindsay : Buddha
• Vachel Lindsay : By The Spring, At Sunset
• Vachel Lindsay : Caught In A Net
• Vachel Lindsay : Crickets On A Strike
• Vachel Lindsay : Darling Daughter Of Babylon
• Vachel Lindsay : Drying Their Wings
• Vachel Lindsay : Eden In Winter
• Vachel Lindsay : Edwin Booth

Previous 10 Poems

• Vachel Lindsay : An Indian Summer Day On The Prairie
• Vachel Lindsay : An Explanation Of The Grasshopper
• Vachel Lindsay : An Apology For The Bottle Volcanic
• Vachel Lindsay : An Account Of The Poem Games
• Vachel Lindsay : Alone In The Wind, On The Prairie
• Vachel Lindsay : Aladdin And The Jinn
• Vachel Lindsay : Abraham Lincoln Walks At Midnight
• Vachel Lindsay : Above The Battle's Front
• Vachel Lindsay : A Rhyme About An Electrical Advertising Sign
• Vachel Lindsay : A Prayer To All The Dead Among Mine Own People