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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=532655" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>At Mass</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=532655" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">No doubt to-morrow I will hide<br>My face from you, my King.<br>Let me rejoice this Sunday noon,<br>And kneel while gray priests sing.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=532655" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">It is not wisdom to forget.<br>But since it is my fate<br>Fill thou my soul with hidden wine<br>To make this white hour great.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=532655" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">My God, my God, this marvelous hour<br>I am your son I know.<br>Once in a thousand days your voice<br>Has laid temptation low.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Vachel+Lindsay">Vachel Lindsay</a></strong></div>

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