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97
IN DIE OBITUS
In God's Presence stands the soul,And there breaks on it the Whole—
Lo, a vision that upbraids
Of a face in festival!
Lo, a vision to appal
As from the desire it fades!
Shut, imprisoned very far,
As the Afric people are
From communicating things,
Now the soul imprisoned is;
And it fevers for its bliss
From a solitude that stings.
As the Afric people are
From communicating things,
Now the soul imprisoned is;
And it fevers for its bliss
From a solitude that stings.
Domine, there is no sound
Passes that impoverished ground—
Breathing of no kine hard by.
Lord, but there must be a breath!
From the earth that travaileth
Riseth up a bitter cry—
Breathing of no kine hard by
Where the patient spirits lie;
But our prayers that do not cease,
But the sacrifice allowed,
But the thurible in cloud
Riseth to them for their peace.
Passes that impoverished ground—
Breathing of no kine hard by.
Lord, but there must be a breath!
From the earth that travaileth
Riseth up a bitter cry—
Breathing of no kine hard by
Where the patient spirits lie;
But our prayers that do not cease,
But the sacrifice allowed,
But the thurible in cloud
Riseth to them for their peace.
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