 | Poems |  |
467
MY SAINT.
Sit to me; let my pencil paint
The heavenly beauty of a saint,
The dear blue peace that ever makes
Those eyes, that only calm are knowing,
The images of summer lakes
That still to heaven, but heaven, are showing,
Eyes, with heaven's perfect calmness, full,
In their deep peace, how beautiful!
The heavenly beauty of a saint,
The dear blue peace that ever makes
Those eyes, that only calm are knowing,
The images of summer lakes
That still to heaven, but heaven, are showing,
Eyes, with heaven's perfect calmness, full,
In their deep peace, how beautiful!
Through that brown hair, there sure has strayed
The radiance that through heaven has played;
Those golden waves, that light, have known;
That lustre through their amber stealing,
Tangled in them, to heaven has shown
The glory that they're now revealing;
Gazing on them, we breathe the air,
The brightness that makes angels fair.
The radiance that through heaven has played;
Those golden waves, that light, have known;
That lustre through their amber stealing,
Tangled in them, to heaven has shown
The glory that they're now revealing;
Gazing on them, we breathe the air,
The brightness that makes angels fair.
And, fair as are your form and face,
Is your sweet soul's celestial grace;
Clear, as through lucid waves, we see,
Through those deep eyes, the fair thoughts sleeping,
Each whitest dream and phantasy
That those untroubled depths are keeping,
Until they give the world to see,
Unveiled, their spotless purity.
Is your sweet soul's celestial grace;
Clear, as through lucid waves, we see,
Through those deep eyes, the fair thoughts sleeping,
Each whitest dream and phantasy
That those untroubled depths are keeping,
Until they give the world to see,
Unveiled, their spotless purity.
Yes, not a vision harbours there
But has the virtue of a prayer,
And not a hope that steals to sound,
But in its holy music's living
The peace that spreads its gladness round,
And, to vexed hearts, its calm is giving,
Its faith that breathes unmoved above
The world's vain stir—all truth and love.
But has the virtue of a prayer,
And not a hope that steals to sound,
But in its holy music's living
The peace that spreads its gladness round,
And, to vexed hearts, its calm is giving,
Its faith that breathes unmoved above
The world's vain stir—all truth and love.
Yet earth's dread shadows that have crost
Those eyes, have not on them been lost;
What pity, in that pure soul dwells,
For vice and sin it's most abhorring!
Pain, hunger, woe—each of them tells
Your praise, you, next to heaven, adoring,
You who walk earth's dark haunts to bless
Its worst with hope and happiness.
Those eyes, have not on them been lost;
468
For vice and sin it's most abhorring!
Pain, hunger, woe—each of them tells
Your praise, you, next to heaven, adoring,
You who walk earth's dark haunts to bless
Its worst with hope and happiness.
Walk on, a light of heaven on earth,
You only knowing not your worth,
You only caring not to see
Your radiance that all gloom is brightening,
Asking no more than so to be
For ever here, life's burdens lightening,
So, through the gleaming gates of death,
Pass in, to breathe celestial breath.
You only knowing not your worth,
You only caring not to see
Your radiance that all gloom is brightening,
Asking no more than so to be
For ever here, life's burdens lightening,
So, through the gleaming gates of death,
Pass in, to breathe celestial breath.
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