And lo! the scene, the Cloister choir,
The nuns in silent pray’r with God,
The crib of Bethlehem, all inspire,
Uplift our hearts from earth’s cold clod;
All hallowed by God’s holy priest,
Raising the host of sacrifice,
While rays from the star of the east
Seem to guide us away from vice.
Non omnis moriar, they say,
Not dead the flow’rs beneath the snow,
They’ll come forth from the earth so gray,
Live and bloom in the sun’s warm glow;
Above the snow beyond the stars
They who have gone in soft tones sing,
Non omnis moriar, afar,
We dwell in peace with Christ our King.
THE MUSICIAN’S LOVE-SONG.
A thousand harps are breaking music in my heart,
In wild picturesque corners where the nymphs might prance,
Strains, half sweet, half sad, in my daily life apart,
Gush forth as from a fountain where the sun’s light dance.
The dusk of night is hov’ring o’er the twilight hour,
Its hidden existence through ever changing years,
The sun’s last rays shed a halo o’er our bower,
The flowers in their beauty seem diffused with tears.
All nature blends in song, in harmony so grand,
Oh why not my soul in sweet melody divine,
Soar ever onward, upward over sea and land,
Through space and eternity to the heav’nly shrine.
A VISION.
I gazed at the sky half dreaming,
Through the whispering trees,
I lay enrapt in its beauty,
While hope sighed through the leaves,
A sense of sublime awakening
Stole o’er my slumb’ring soul,
I awoke in this universe,
Where, oh where was the goal?