And every note of every bell
Sang Gabriel! rang Gabriel!
In the tower that is left the tale to tell
Of Gabriel, the Archangel.
Where are they now, O tower!
The locusts and wild honey?
Where is the sacred dower
That the bride of Christ was given?
Gone to the wielders of power,
The misers and minters of money;
Gone for the greed that is their creed—
And these in the land have thriven.
What then wert thou, and what art now,
And wherefore hast thou striven?
And every note of every bell
Sang Gabriel! rang Gabriel!
In the tower that is left the tale to tell
Of Gabriel, the Archangel.
THE POOR
By Speer Strahan, C.S.C.
The poor I saw at the cloister gate
Mutely beg with their patient eyes
An alms, for the love of Him who sate
And supped with the poor in human guise.
And there were monks saw the nails' deep scars
In the shrunken hands that reached for bread,
Who heard a Voice from beyond the stars
In the broken thanks of them they fed.
