BOOK THE EIGHTH.
307
And break thy midnight rest, and tell thy beads,
And labor thro' thy still repeated prayer; 865
Fear thou thy God of Terrors; spurn the gifts
He gave, and sepulchre thyself alive!
But far more valued is the vine that bends
Beneath its swelling clusters, than the dark
And joyless ivy, round the cloister's wall 870
Wreathing its barren arms. For me I know
Mine own worth, Priest! that I have well perform'd
My duty, and untrembling shall appear
Before the just tribunal of that God,
Whom grateful Love has taught me to adore!" 875
And labor thro' thy still repeated prayer; 865
Fear thou thy God of Terrors; spurn the gifts
He gave, and sepulchre thyself alive!
But far more valued is the vine that bends
Beneath its swelling clusters, than the dark
And joyless ivy, round the cloister's wall 870
Wreathing its barren arms. For me I know
Mine own worth, Priest! that I have well perform'd
My duty, and untrembling shall appear
Before the just tribunal of that God,
Whom grateful Love has taught me to adore!" 875
She said, and they departed from the dome.
