 | Mystic Trees |  |
104
HOLY WEEK
The
Gloriae are dimming one by one;
The Gloriae are gone:
Beloved, and I am fallen from Thy praise,
Following the Church's ways.
Voice after voice, as leaves in Autumn falling,
I have watched hush themselves and die—
Nor antiphon, nor cry,
Nor sweet recalling.
The Gloriae are gone:
Beloved, and I am fallen from Thy praise,
Following the Church's ways.
Voice after voice, as leaves in Autumn falling,
I have watched hush themselves and die—
Nor antiphon, nor cry,
Nor sweet recalling.
For this the Angels droop their wings together,
And walk as if they could not fly,
Walk heavily, as if forever
God in His glory were put by:
And one, with tears hanging upon his face,
Unto his Lord doth pace.
And walk as if they could not fly,
Walk heavily, as if forever
God in His glory were put by:
And one, with tears hanging upon his face,
Unto his Lord doth pace.
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