Pierre—The Holy Virgin bless us!
Ely— Yes, he did;
Ran down. I watched him till he disappeared,
Then turned to stone. I could not stir, but stood
Frightened as though an angel hovered near
In the blue sky.
Pierre— Oh, I have felt it too!
These two days have to me been like a dream
And I am dizzy as on some high place.
At night I feel the stars are not far off,
And when I wake, it seems to me the dawn
Is breaking far below us on the world.
So near we are to that which lights the sun, (He holds up the candelabra.)
These candles, if I should dare to speak the word,
Would burst out into flame.
Ely— Pierre!
Pierre—(Still looking up.) Oh, surely,
Surely the hands that lifted Oswald up,
Lifted our abbey too, and we are close
To heaven. Perhaps about us in the air
Are voices and the wings of those that hear
Our very whispers,—martyrs, saints, Saint Giles.
Ely—You make it terrible to live in flesh.
Pierre—Oh, terrible! It is terrible to live
Where every word drops in an angel's ear.
I feel that every breath should be a prayer.
Ely—I feel so too, Pierre. These acts of grace—
Pierre—Are but the sparks of power.