Who can repay what thou hast done,
But He who chose you for His own.
This day a year hence I will come,
To lead thee to the heavenly throne.”
And it was so—in one short year.
Our Domherr slept amidst the dead;
But ere he died, he told us all
That Bertha stood beside his bed;
She held a palm branch in her hand,
Her face was lit with heavenly light.
“I’ve come for thee,” she softly said,
“To lead thee to the Lord’s delight.”
Our Domherr smiled, and stretched his hand,
“Oh, lead me to my Lord,” he said.
A rapturous light shown on his face,
And when it faded he was dead.
He ended. The whirlwind raged on in the night,
It howled by the windows, it shrieked at the door,
The terrified servants with horror it filled,
The thought of the demon as never before;
The spiritual world with its weal and its woe,
Seemed near them; they trembled to think they might see
The form of some being no more of this world,
And seeing be powerless even to flee.
“Oh, father,” they said, “’tis a terrible tale.
And had you not told us, who would have believed?
Though all of us know the dead can arise,
They generally only the wicked deceive.”
“My children,” the monk said, “the living and dead
Are all in the hands of the Lord we adore.
Oh, pray that your sins be forgiven on earth,
Be nailed to the cross that our dear Saviour bore.”
The servant now led them to where they might rest
And sleep, if they chose, till the coming of day,
And when the sun rose, and the storm had been stilled,
With blessings and thanks the two monks went their way.
