To grace my dear Lord’s feast;
And where the guests so thickly thronged
I stood, the last and least.
From wood and garden fair.
And hidden lanes and lonely dells,
Had heaped their treasures there.
And one with blue forget-me-nots
His chalices had wreathed.
Gleamed golden in the sun,
These, little children’s hands had plucked,
And strewn there one by one.
No flowers had found to save,
So gathered as he came along
A daisy from a grave.
ln humble faith had brought,
And laid them ‘neath a lily’s leaf,
Nor greater notice sought.
Alone beyond the gate,
I dared not enter where the guests
Christ’s speedy coming wait.
Yet would I sup, dear Lord,
No more at any earthly feast
But at Thy sacred board.”
Would Christ yet hear my prayer ?
Or when His guests had entered in,
Must I stay lonely there ?
That His dear love would greet.
More than all fading earthly flowers,
A heart laid at His feet ?
I heard His tender call,
I looked, and saw a woven crown
Upon my pathway fall.
That twisted crown of thorn,
I woke, and heard the happy bells
Ring out the Easter morn.
— Caris Brooke,
Anna Blanch is founder of Goannatree, and a PhD candidate in the Institute of Theology, Imagination, and the Arts at St Mary’s College, University of St Andrews, Scotland where she’s presently writing her PhD thesis on E.Nesbit. She is also a regular contributor to Transpositions.