Part 11

Dark! Dark! Dark! The sun is set; the day is dead: Thy Feast has fled; My eyes are wet with tears unshed; I bow my head; Where the star-fringed shadows softly sway I bend my knee, And, like a homesick child, I pray, Mary, to thee.

Dark! Dark! Dark! And, all the day -- since white-robed priest In farthest East, In dawn's first ray -- began the Feast, I -- I the least -- Thy least, and last, and lowest child, I called on thee! Virgin! didst hear? my words were wild; Didst think of me?

Dark! Dark! Dark! Alas! and no! The angels bright, With wings as white As a dream of snow in love and light, Flashed on thy sight; They shone like stars around thee, Queen! I knelt afar -- A shadow only dims the scene Where shines a star!

Dark! Dark! Dark! And all day long, beyond the sky, Sweet, pure, and high, The angel's song swept sounding by Triumphantly; And when such music filled thy ear, Rose round thy throne, How could I hope that thou wouldst hear My far, faint moan?

Dark! Dark! Dark! And all day long, where altars stand, Or poor or grand, A countless throng from every land, With lifted hand, Winged hymns to thee from sorrow's vale In glad acclaim; How couldst thou hear my lone lips wail Thy sweet, pure name?

Dark! Dark! Dark! Alas! and no! Thou didst not hear Nor bend thy ear, To prayer of woe as mine so drear; For hearts more dear Hid me from hearing and from sight This bright Feast-day; Wilt hear me, Mother, if in its night I kneel and pray?

Dark! Dark! Dark! The sun is set, the day is dead; Thy Feast hath fled; My eyes are wet with the tears I shed; I bow my head; Angels and altars hailed thee, Queen, All day; ah! be To-night what thou hast ever been -- A mother to me!

Dark! Dark! Dark! Thy queenly crown in angels' sight Is fair and bright; Ah! lay it down; for, oh! to-night Its jeweled light Shines not as the tender love-light shines, O Mary! mild, In the mother's eyes, whose pure heart pines For poor, lost child!

Dark! Dark! Dark! Sceptre in hand, thou dost hold sway Fore'er and aye In angel-land; but, fair Queen! pray Lay it away. Let thy sceptre wave in the realms above Where angels are; But, Mother! fold in thine arms of love Thy child afar!

Dark! Dark! Dark! Mary, I call! Wilt hear the prayer My poor lips dare? Yea! be to all a Queen most fair, Crown, sceptre, bear! But look on me with a mother's eyes From heaven's bliss; And waft to me from the starry skies A mother's kiss!

Dark! Dark! Dark! The sun is set; the day is dead; Her Feast has fled; Can she forget the sweet blood shed, The last words said That evening -- "Woman! behold thy Son! Oh! priceless right, Of all His children! The last, least one, Is heard to-night.

Sursum Corda

Weary hearts! weary hearts! by the cares of life oppressed, Ye are wand'ring in the shadows -- ye are sighing for a rest: There is darkness in the heavens, and the earth is bleak below, And the joys we taste to-day may to-morrow turn to woe. Weary hearts! God is Rest.

Lonely hearts! lonely hearts! this is but a land of grief; Ye are pining for repose -- ye are longing for relief: What the world hath never given, kneel and ask of God above, And your grief shall turn to gladness, if you lean upon His love. Lonely hearts! God is Love.

Restless hearts! restless hearts! ye are toiling night and day, And the flowers of life, all withered, leave but thorns along your way: Ye are waiting, ye are waiting, till your toilings all shall cease, And your ev'ry restless beating is a sad, sad prayer for peace. Restless hearts! God is Peace.

Breaking hearts! broken hearts! ye are desolate and lone, And low voices from the past o'er your present ruins moan! In the sweetest of your pleasures there was bitterest alloy, And a starless night hath followed on the sunset of your joy. Broken hearts! God is Joy.

Homeless hearts! homeless hearts! through the dreary, dreary years, Ye are lonely, lonely wand'rers, and your way is wet with tears; In bright or blighted places, wheresoever ye may roam, Ye look away from earth-land, and ye murmur, "Where is home?" Homeless hearts! God is Home.

A Child's Wish

Before an Altar

I wish I were the little key That locks Love's Captive in, And lets Him out to go and free A sinful heart from sin.

I wish I were the little bell That tinkles for the Host, When God comes down each day to dwell With hearts He loves the most.

I wish I were the chalice fair, That holds the Blood of Love, When every flash lights holy prayer Upon its way above.

I wish I were the little flower So near the Host's sweet face, Or like the light that half an hour Burns on the shrine of grace.

I wish I were the altar where, As on His mother's breast, Christ nestles, like a child, fore'er In Eucharistic rest.

But, oh! my God, I wish the most That my poor heart may be A home all holy for each Host That comes in love to me.

Presentiment

"My Sister"

Cometh a voice from a far-land! Beautiful, sad, and low; Shineth a light from the star-land! Down on the night of my woe; And a white hand, with a garland, Biddeth my spirit to go.