 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
THE HERMIT'S COUNSEL.
I
Thus spake the hermit: Count it gain,The scoff, the stab, the freezing fear:
Expiate on earth thine earthly stain;
The fire that cleanseth, find it here!
Nearest we stand to heavenly light
When girt by Purgatorial glooms:
That Church which crowns the Roman height
Three centuries trod the Catacombs!
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II
But when thy God His Hand withdraws,And all things round seem glad and fair,
Unchallenged Faith, impartial laws,
And wealth and honour, then beware!
Beware lest sin in splendour deck'd
Make null the years of holy sighs,
And God's great People, grief-elect,
Her birthright scorning, miss the prize.
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |