I have drunk the sacramental wine, the bread Unleavened, eaten slowly that I might taste The essence of the message he had spread. A love divine through my body raced.
Is He not born again and yet again In this seemingly inexplicable dream Of a world where rapture rules and grinding pain Is worn away as a stone in a rushing stream?
And yet it is no dream that we have come To drink from the silver chalice, the soul refresh Our aspiration to make this world His home By the transubstantiation of the flesh.
Poems Undated (1727)
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Narad
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