 | Poems by Julia C. R. Dorr |  |
351
THE PAINTER'S PRAYER
“NEC ME PRÆTERMITTAS, DOMINE!”
(An incident in the painting of Holman Hunt's “Light of the World.”)
“Nay,” he said, “it is not done!
At to-morrow's set of sun
Come again, if you would see
What the finished thought may be.”
Straight they went. The heavy door
On its hinges swung once more,
As within the studio dim
Eye and heart took heed of Him!
At to-morrow's set of sun
Come again, if you would see
What the finished thought may be.”
Straight they went. The heavy door
On its hinges swung once more,
As within the studio dim
Eye and heart took heed of Him!
How the Presence filled the room,
Brightening all its dusky gloom!
Saints and martyrs turned their eyes
From the hills of Paradise;
Rapt in holy ecstasy,
Mary smiled her Son to see,
Letting all her lilies fall
At His feet—the Lord of all!
Brightening all its dusky gloom!
Saints and martyrs turned their eyes
From the hills of Paradise;
Rapt in holy ecstasy,
Mary smiled her Son to see,
Letting all her lilies fall
At His feet—the Lord of all!
But the painter bowed his head,
Lost in wonder and in dread,
And as at a holy shrine
Knelt before the form divine.
All had passed—the pride, the power,
Of the soul's creative hour—
Exaltation's soaring flight
To the spirit's loftiest height.
Lost in wonder and in dread,
And as at a holy shrine
Knelt before the form divine.
352
Of the soul's creative hour—
Exaltation's soaring flight
To the spirit's loftiest height.
Had he dared to paint the Lord?
Dared to paint the Christ, the Word?
Ah, the folly! Ah, the sin!
Ah, the shame his soul within!
Saints might turn on him their eyes
From the hills of Paradise,
But the painter could not brook
On that pictured face to look.
Dared to paint the Christ, the Word?
Ah, the folly! Ah, the sin!
Ah, the shame his soul within!
Saints might turn on him their eyes
From the hills of Paradise,
But the painter could not brook
On that pictured face to look.
Yet the form was grand and fair,
Fit to move a world to prayer;
God like in its strength and stress,
Human in its tenderness.
From it streamed the Light divine,
O'er it drooped the heavenly vine,
And beneath the bending spray
Stood the Life, the Truth, the Way!
Fit to move a world to prayer;
God like in its strength and stress,
Human in its tenderness.
From it streamed the Light divine,
O'er it drooped the heavenly vine,
And beneath the bending spray
Stood the Life, the Truth, the Way!
Suddenly with eager hold,
Back he swept the curtain's fold,
Letting all the sunset glow
O'er the living canvas flow.
Surely then the wondrous eyes
Met his own in tenderest wise,
And the Lord Christ, half revealed,
Smiled upon him as he kneeled!
Back he swept the curtain's fold,
Letting all the sunset glow
O'er the living canvas flow.
Surely then the wondrous eyes
Met his own in tenderest wise,
And the Lord Christ, half revealed,
Smiled upon him as he kneeled!
Trembling, throbbing, quick as thought,
Up he brush and palette caught,
And where deepest shade was thrown
Set one sign for God alone!
Years have passed—but, even yet,
Where the massive frame is set
You may find these words: “Nec me
Prætermittas, Domine!”
Up he brush and palette caught,
And where deepest shade was thrown
353
Years have passed—but, even yet,
Where the massive frame is set
You may find these words: “Nec me
Prætermittas, Domine!”
“Neither pass me by, O Lord!”
Christ, the Life, the Light, the Word,
Low we bow before thy feet,
Thy remembrance to entreat!
In our soul's most secret place,
For no eye but thine to trace,
Lo! this prayer we write: “Nec me
Prætermittas, Domine!”
Christ, the Life, the Light, the Word,
Low we bow before thy feet,
Thy remembrance to entreat!
In our soul's most secret place,
For no eye but thine to trace,
Lo! this prayer we write: “Nec me
Prætermittas, Domine!”
| Poems by Julia C. R. Dorr | |