THE PERFECT DAY.
An altar cloth’d with pure samite,
Adorned with gold and precious stones—
A Christian priest in vestments white
Baptizing many little ones;
And all the people on their knees
Singing in full, melodious tones!—
Whose hand on Ragnal’s shoulder lies?
Whose sweet voice murmurs in his ear?
“For such as thou, the Christ was born;
Arise, Prince Ragnal, and draw near!”
A veiléd woman leads him down
To where the altar-lights shine clear.
The Hidden Presence strong and sweet
His erring son would closer draw.
In the warm glory of the shrine,
His icy blood begins to thaw:
Yet Ragnal dare not lift his eyes—
He trembles with delicious awe.
What time the children yield him place,
(Without a look or sign of dread),
Kneeling before the agéd priest,
The sacred words are softly said;
And with a thrill of joy, he feels
The saving waters on his head.
O miracle of purest faith!
The people shout and clap their hands—
Like some foul mantle, earthward, cast,
Down drop the Leper’s loathsome bands!—
Ragnal, the Golden-hair’d, once more,
In manly beauty, perfect, stands!
While, clear and strong to Heaven’s high court,
Goes up the glorious Christmas hymn—
The shrouded woman at his side
Flings back her veil from eyes that swim
With happy tears—and Dympna’s face
Shines star-like, from the shadows dim!
Forgiven the past—forgot the pains
Which made that face his bitterest dream;
A trusting smile is on its lips,
Its eyes with glad affection beam,
While, down the Prince’s waving beard,
The grateful tears, unbidden, stream.
The priest hath joined their willing hands;
The day grows bright—the wind blows free—
As thro’ the woods, they go to seek
Their sunlit castle by the sea.
O Ragnal of the Golden Hair!
The Lord hath gracious dealt with thee!
And in the midst—O Vision strange!—
A Woman glorious as the moon,
Upon whose breast, a radiant Child
Lies, like a rosebud blown in June.
(See [page 16].)
