And Ragnal bends his aching knee;
He stretches forth his wasted arms,
And cries: “Eternal praise to Thee!
O Blessed Christ! Thine hour is come—
Complete the work begun in me!”
And then, he swoons—how long—how short
A space, he knows not—till his eyes
He, languid, opens to the dawn,
Faint-blushing in the eastern skies;