[THE NUN.]
Fair penitent, with rosary,
And cross and veil, in gloomy cell,
What guilty deed was done by thee,
To cause thee here immured to dwell?
Come forward, and present thy cause;
That we may clearly judge, and know
If violated human laws
Imprison and afflict thee so:
Or if it be some secret sin,
That haunts thy contrite soul with fears;
And here sequesters thee within
The place of fasting, gloom, and tears?
Art thou the guiltiest of thy race?
Why, thou art human, it is true;
Which is alone enough for grace
To have renewing work to do.
But, can devotion, warm and deep,
Thy duty’s bounds so closely set,
That faith may plough, and sow, and reap
By trials shunned, instead of met?
What ray of truth, revealed, would thus
Make of a tender opening soul
A close, dark blue convolvulus,
And give its bloom this inward roll?
Dost thou the never-fading crown
Of life and joy intend to win,
By here supinely sitting down,
Where others but the race begin?
And dost thou think to gain the palm
By hiding from thy Saviour’s foes;
Or hope in Gilead’s sacred balm
A cure for self-inflicted woes?