A Treasury of South African Poetry and Verse/Omicron
DE PROFUNDIS.
The dying sun, with mellow ray,
Illum'd the deep'ning gloom
Of carvéd apse and storied bay
And costly sculptur'd tomb.
On aisle and chapel, choir and shrine,
The morient beam delay'd;
Its ling'ring beauty, half divine,
Upon the altar stray'd.
Before that altar knelt a man
Absorbed in earnest pray'r;
His pallid face, with suff'ring wan,
Was overcast with care.
Fast, fast the eager tear-drops rolled
Adown his bronzèd cheek,
His heaving bosom's sobs foretold
His very heart would break.
His harness, all of metal tried,
Was cunningly inlaid
With jewels rare, and by his side
His golden helm display'd;
A silken scarf, of gorgeous sheen,
Upon his breast he wore,
And rev'rently, his hands atween,
A crucifix he bore.
"My heart is black with sin!" he cried,
"My soul can find no rest;
Extend Thine arms of mercy wide
And take me to Thy breast.
Canst Thou deny one soul relief
For whom Thy blood was shed?
Didst Thou not save the sorrowing thief
E'en as death bow'd Thy head?"
Athwart the altar passed a glow
From out the western heav'n—
The Messenger of Peace, to show
His guilt was all forgiven.
Uprais'd in hope, his glazing eye
With rapture's light was fired;
He sank before the Altar High,
And in a smile expir'd.
•••••
For vespers rang the cloister bell;
The abbot with his train,
Each from his solitary cell,
Came slowly in amain;
The rising moonbeams softly broke
Upon that prostrate head;
The solemn organ sweetly woke
Its requiem for the dead.
ANSWERED.
Weary, with tired eyes that sought
Some answer to an hopeless thought;
Sad, with remembrance of dead years,
That woke with the bright flush of morn,
But faded in a mist of tears
Before their promise could be born,—
I stood awhile upon the verge
Of a far-rolling sweep of sea,
Whose fading distance seemed to merge
Into the vast eternity.
The ghosts of things that had been dead,
Yet lived again;
The salt of tears was on my tongue;
The sound of bitter sobbing, wrung
From hearts which Joy had cursed and fled,
Was in my brain;
And from the main,
Borne on a sudden tremulous breath
Of air that chilled me as the touch of death,
Came an exceeding bitter cry,
As of a soul in mortal pain:
"All that is fair shall die!"
I did not know it was my own:
So the gloom deepened; then there came,—
First in faint echoes from afar
That gathered, as an undertone,
In most hushed stillness, to one sound,—
The mention of an awful name:
And the same instant flashed around
The sudden glory of a risen star.