142
FRIAR ANSELMO
Still Mary mother turned her eyes away,
Nor saint nor angel bent to hear him pray!
Nor saint nor angel bent to hear him pray!
The calm, cold moonlight through the casement shone;
Weird shadows darkened on the floor of stone;
Without, what solemn splendors! and within
What fearful wrestlings with despair and sin!
Sudden and loud the cloister bell outrang;
Afar a door swung to with sullen clang;
And overhead he heard the rhythmic beat,
The measured monotone of many feet
Seeking the chapel for the midnight prayer.
Black wings seemed hovering round him in the air,
Beating him back when with a stifled moan
He would have sought the holy altar stone.
Then with a swift, sharp cry, prostrate he fell
Before the crucifix. "The gates of hell
Shall not prevail against me!" loud he cried,
Stretching his arms to Christ, the crucified.
"By Thy dread cross, Thy dying agony,
Thine awful passion, Lord, deliver me!"
Weird shadows darkened on the floor of stone;
Without, what solemn splendors! and within
What fearful wrestlings with despair and sin!
Sudden and loud the cloister bell outrang;
Afar a door swung to with sullen clang;
And overhead he heard the rhythmic beat,
The measured monotone of many feet
Seeking the chapel for the midnight prayer.
Black wings seemed hovering round him in the air,
Beating him back when with a stifled moan
He would have sought the holy altar stone.
Then with a swift, sharp cry, prostrate he fell
Before the crucifix. "The gates of hell
Shall not prevail against me!" loud he cried,
Stretching his arms to Christ, the crucified.
"By Thy dread cross, Thy dying agony,
Thine awful passion, Lord, deliver me!"
Was it a dream? The taunting demons fled;
Through the dim cell a wondrous glory spread;
And all the air was filled with rare perfumes
Wafted from censers rich with heavenly blooms.
Transfigured stood the Christ before his eyes,
Clothed in white samite, woven in Paradise,
And from the empty cross upon the wall
Streamed a wide splendor that encompassed all!
Was it a dream? Anselmo's sight grew dim;
The cloistered chamber seemed to reel and swim;
Yet well his spirit knew the glorious guest,
And all his manhood rose to meet the test.
"What wilt Thou have me, Lord, to do?" he cried
With pallid lips, and kissed the sacred feet.
Through the dim cell a wondrous glory spread;
And all the air was filled with rare perfumes
Wafted from censers rich with heavenly blooms.
Transfigured stood the Christ before his eyes,
Clothed in white samite, woven in Paradise,
And from the empty cross upon the wall
Streamed a wide splendor that encompassed all!
Was it a dream? Anselmo's sight grew dim;
The cloistered chamber seemed to reel and swim;
Yet well his spirit knew the glorious guest,
And all his manhood rose to meet the test.
"What wilt Thou have me, Lord, to do?" he cried
With pallid lips, and kissed the sacred feet.
