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Adown the vista of the years, I turn and look with silent soul, As though to catch a muted strain Of melody, that seems to roll In tender cadence to my ear. But, as I wait with eyes that long The singer to behold—it fades, And silence ends the Cradle Song. But when the shadows of the years Have lengthened slowly to the West, And once again I lay me down To sleep, upon my mother's breast, Then well I know I ne'er again Shall cry to God, "How long? How long?" For, to my soul, her voice will sing A never-ending Cradle Song. |
OUT OF THE DARK.
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Out of the Dark that shrouded Thee, my Lord, Upon that day of Passion and of Pain, There rose a cry from Thee which rent the sky, Piercing the shadows of the noontide gloom In vibrant tones that rang with agony Supreme, and, with the strength of holy grief, Divine despair, rolled upward on the wings Of Mystery unto the eternal Throne— "Eli! Eli! Lama Sabacthani!" Out of the dark that lies about my soul, Upon this day of sorrow and of pain, I lift mine eyes and gaze with prayerful heart Upon the tortured image of my Lord, Then lo! the sombre shadows melt away, And round my spirit glows a wonderous light, By thine own Cross and Passion, blessed Lord, And by that mystic moment of despair, Thy world shall never know Thine awful Woe, Nor cry to God in agony supreme— "Eli! Eli! Lama Sabacthani!" |
NIOBE.
(Dedicated to the statue of Niobe, in the Uffizi Palace, Florence, Italy.)
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Oh! form of perfect woe, in grief unending! Soul-anguish, mortal pangs, in marble moulded! Oh, sobs! by us unheard, that bosom rending! Oh, tender form! within those arms enfolded! With heart undaunted, has the Mother striven Against Death's vengeance, e'en within its portal; And when her soul with horror most is riven, Woman, she dares to face the wrath immortal. So, through the ages, see those forms united In an eternal clasp. Ah, woe transcendent! Upon that face, its beauty all unblighted, We read the Mother-love, supreme, resplendent! |