Poems with rhymes of SPILT

Then, Time, let not a drop be spilt:
Hand me the cup whene'er thou wilt;

The blood our fathers spilt,
Our love, our toils, our pains,
Are counted us for guilt,

My conscience felt and owned the guilt,
And plunged me in despair,
I saw my sins His blood had spilt,

He sinned--but he paid the price of his guilt
When his blood by a nameless hand was spilt;

Nor--touched with due abhorrence of 'their' guilt
For whose dire ends tears flow, and blood is spilt,

And then well-dressed, ashore, he sees life spilt.
The river-bank is one bright crazy-quilt

By cruel hands her blood was spilt,
And yet her wealth was all her guilt.

Well I know their mighty guilt;
But my love than death is stronger,
I my blood have freely spilt:

My soul ask what thou wilt,
Thou canst not be too bold;
Since his own blood for thee he spilt,

When the long roll of Christian guilt
Against his sires and kin is known,
The flood of tears, the life-blood spilt,

In the blood that she has spilt;
Perish, hopeless and abhorred,
Deep in ruin as in guilt.

But shuns to look on wounds, & blood that's spilt,
She loves her sword only because its gilt.

Who cleanse a soul that loves its guilt?
Or gather wine when wine is spilt?

In the roof a swift had built.
All the new-born airs were spilt

No blood of beasts on altars spilt
Can cleanse the souls of men from guilt;

The point of time, for which the world was built,
For which the blood of God Himself was spilt,

What of the house they should have built?
She wanders through her days forlorn,
The untasted cup of joy is spilt.

Queen Theodolind has built
In the earth a furnace-bed:
There the Traitor Nail that spilt

Should do the deed o' guilt,
He let the whiskey spigot run,
And a' the whiskey's spilt!'

For bread, and gold, and blood: Pain, linked to Guilt,
Agitates the light flame of their hours,
Until its vital oil is spent or spilt.