Musa Verticordia :: :: University of Virginia Library

When before the throne I stand,
With my sins in either hand,
Saying “This is all I bring
Of those talents, O my King,
That thou gavedst me whilome,
On that Earth, my mournful home,”
Then, if I have time to cry
Ere my doom he ratify,
Full before his face I'll say,

“One thing only can outweigh
All this burden that I bear,—
Barren gifts and compound care:
Forasmuch as I have won
Such a sparkle of the sun
As in chrysolite is trapped,—
Far more preciously enwrapped
In thy own created gauze
Where thy own Son once did pause,—
Forasmuch as I can prove
That I gained a woman's love,
One in whom a flame of thine
Flickered through the crystalline
Tablature, on which thy pen
Graved those messages to men
Which compelled their eyes to see
Hints of immortality,

I can claim that my poor gold
Has increased a thousand-fold.
Call her hither; let her stand
Here beside me; then command—
Nay, there is no need to bid
Lips not lie that never did;
Let her eyes but rest on mine
And thou need'st not be divine
To interpret what they shout.”

So far; then my song was out;
Up to heaven the bright wings bent;
I below, in wonderment,
Watched them fade, as fades the lark,
Drawn to heaven,—a sacred spark,
Vanishing in native light,
Whence it issued into sight.