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THE MAGDALEN.
But no more of that evil time,
An altered heart is mine:
Purified by a hope sublime,
And by a faith divine.
I weep; but tears of penitence
Still comfort as they flow;
And rise to heaven, and win from thence
A solace for below.
For I have learnt, my God, to trace
Thy love in all things here;
How wonderful the power and grace
In all thy works appear.
The vineyard dim with purple light,
The silvery olive tree,
The corn wherewith the plains are bright,
Speak to my soul of thee.
This loveliness is born to die;
Not so the race, for whom
The sun goes shining through the sky,
The world puts forth its bloom.
We know that to this lovely earth,
Will sure destruction come;
But though it be our place of birth,
Yet it is not our home.
