THE MONK OF LA TRAPPE.
OH what abounding grace!
Of one we read
Whose piteous wound in lieu of speech did bleed
(As if even Nature's self for him would plead);
Who mid his silent brethren silent went
Two weary years on prayer and labor bent
Unmindful of his misery so he still
Shaped every deed and thought to God's dear will;
Nor heeded he his bed of knotted straw
Whose vigils sore the 3Iaster only saw
Nor lookèd forward to the ashen heap
Whereon rite dying brethren fell on sleep
(Acquainting them or ere they joined the dead
With the poor kindred dust whereto they sped);
Nor fastings long, nor penance be relaxed
Nor less he body for fire body
Nor changed a whir the posture, or the face
That shone with calm while grew his woe apace.
Vain, vain the body's strife to turn aside
The purpose of the spirit sanctified!
In snatch of wretched sleep his chastened will
Of one we read
Whose piteous wound in lieu of speech did bleed
(As if even Nature's self for him would plead);
Who mid his silent brethren silent went
Two weary years on prayer and labor bent
Unmindful of his misery so he still
Shaped every deed and thought to God's dear will;
Nor heeded he his bed of knotted straw
Whose vigils sore the 3Iaster only saw
Nor lookèd forward to the ashen heap
Whereon rite dying brethren fell on sleep
(Acquainting them or ere they joined the dead
With the poor kindred dust whereto they sped);
Nor fastings long, nor penance be relaxed
Nor less he body for fire body
Nor changed a whir the posture, or the face
That shone with calm while grew his woe apace.
Vain, vain the body's strife to turn aside
The purpose of the spirit sanctified!
In snatch of wretched sleep his chastened will
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