Scene: An audience-chamber in the old Lateran Palace, Rome.
[Enter Zacharias and Damiani.]
DAMIANI.
And so the Lombard yielded ...?
ZACHARIAS.
Not to me,
But to my God. Each man of woman born
Is fashioned in God’s outer image: few
Are so compact of Him they feel His strength
Within their body as a force that pushes
Its way and dissipates the hollow crowd
Of godless men; but from my youth I prayed
I might be like Him in my inward parts
As in my form of dust: and there was nothing
That stood against me. It was simple joy
To meet the opposition of my foes,
To meet triumphant wickedness, to meet
The deadliest torpor; for they had an end
As night and mist are ended by the sun.
DAMIANI.
You act on a dread thought.
ZACHARIAS.
The thought conceived,
Life has no terrors. It is emptiness
Alone that makes us timid and inert:
Fill up the void, we go from strength to strength
In our possession. When I worship God,
The pyx upon the altar where He dwells
Has not a closer hold on Him than I.