Where sweet, white fires embrace
The red-scarred, red-stained soul:
That it may see God's Face,
Perfectly white and whole.
While with still hope they bear
Those ardent agonies:
Earth pleads for them, in prayer
And wistful charities.
O place of patient pains,
And land of brave desires!
Us now God's Will detains
Far from those holy fires.
Us the sad world rings round
With passionate flames impure:
We tread an impious ground,
And hunger, and endure:
That, earth's ordeal done,
Those white, sweet fires may fit
Us for our home, and One,
Who is the Light of it.
1892.
III.
Since, O white City! I may be,
I, a white citizen of thee:
I claim no saint's high grace
Mine, but a servant's place.
I think not vainly to become
A king, who knew no martyrdom:
Nor crown, nor palm, I crave;
But to be Christ's poor slave.
Angels! before the Lord of lords,
Shine forth, His spiritual swords!
Flash round the King of kings
The snow of your white wings!