 | Valete |  |
57
Father Damien.
APRIL, 1889.
No golden dome shines over Damien's sleep;
A leper's grave upon a leprous strand
Where hope is dead, and hand must shrink from hand
Where cataracts wail towards a moaning deep,
And frowning purple cliffs in mercy keep
All wholesome life at distance, hath God planned
For him who led his saintly hero band,
And died a shepherd of Christ's exiled sheep.
A leper's grave upon a leprous strand
Where hope is dead, and hand must shrink from hand
Where cataracts wail towards a moaning deep,
And frowning purple cliffs in mercy keep
All wholesome life at distance, hath God planned
For him who led his saintly hero band,
And died a shepherd of Christ's exiled sheep.
O'er Damien's dust the broad skies bend for dome,
Stars burn for golden letters, and the sea
Shall roll perpetual anthem round his rest;
For Damien made the charnel-house life's home,
Matched love with death: and Damien's name shall be
A glorious benediction world-possest.
Stars burn for golden letters, and the sea
Shall roll perpetual anthem round his rest;
For Damien made the charnel-house life's home,
Matched love with death: and Damien's name shall be
A glorious benediction world-possest.
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