The Last Supper.
159
But the glory of that face,
The finger of time has past,
Nor left irreverent impress,
Where ruin has o'ercast.
The finger of time has past,
Nor left irreverent impress,
Where ruin has o'ercast.
And down the dusky cloister,
When evening shadows fall,
And cloud the faded figures
Of that fresco on the wall;
When evening shadows fall,
And cloud the faded figures
Of that fresco on the wall;
Still shines with radiance ever,
The Saviour's face sublime,
Limned by a wondrous painter,
Immortalized through time.
The Saviour's face sublime,
Limned by a wondrous painter,
Immortalized through time.
