 | Brother Fabian's Manuscript |  |
And, lest thy teaching lacked perfection yet,
Came Misery, dreadful Angel, and Regret
Sate tracing evermore
With hieroglyphs of woe thy hearthstone o'er and o'er!
Ah, Christ! For ever must the Poet's lore
Be perfected e'en thus? O gentle Child,
To those who kneel this night in Bethlehem,
Hast thou no sweeter message?—Thou to them
Wilt thou say calmly:“Go ye forth, and grieve?”
O Mary, mother mild!
I pray thee by thy sevenfold crown of sorrows,
Is this the mystery of thy holy eve?—
Is there no meaning left in our to-morrows?—
Hark! Even now their answer, and again
Comes borne of little voices, high and low,
That wintry nightwinds blow
About the highways with the drizzling rain!
Came Misery, dreadful Angel, and Regret
Sate tracing evermore
With hieroglyphs of woe thy hearthstone o'er and o'er!
Ah, Christ! For ever must the Poet's lore
Be perfected e'en thus? O gentle Child,
To those who kneel this night in Bethlehem,
Hast thou no sweeter message?—Thou to them
Wilt thou say calmly:“Go ye forth, and grieve?”
O Mary, mother mild!
I pray thee by thy sevenfold crown of sorrows,
Is this the mystery of thy holy eve?—
Is there no meaning left in our to-morrows?—
Hark! Even now their answer, and again
Comes borne of little voices, high and low,
259
About the highways with the drizzling rain!
| Brother Fabian's Manuscript | |