Page:Bohemian legends and other poems.djvu/53

Not so, not so, beloved,
My son, I pray thee hear,
Have mercy, I beseech thee,
Upon this soul in fear.
And turn her bitter anguish
To songs of praise, just here.”

“Right gladly would I hear thee,
Oh, Blessed Mother mine,
But in my Father’s mansions
That sinful soul would pine;
What good work has she finished,
Meet for this home divine?”

“Alas! alas! I sinful
Have walked in my own light;
The world and all its pleasures,
They were my sole delight;
Alas! I am most sinful,
Most sinful in my sight.”

“But say, some good work surely—
Some fasts you must have kept?”
The Blessed Mother questioned,
The sinful soul that wept:
“Some sins you must have thought of,
And prayed for, ere you slept?”

“Alas! alas! I sinful
Have nothing I can show,
Except I sometimes tended
The sick ones in their woe,
And gave a little water
To those down-stricken low.”

Ah, great then was the beauty,
That shown in our Lord’s face:
“Give me thy hand, redeemed one,
Thy sins they are effaced;
Come in, come in, redeemed one,
Thou, too, hast won the race.”