little, he opened one of the drawers, took out an old music-book whose leaves were yellow with age, and began turning it over.
"There," he said to Miss Ophelia, "this was one of my mother's books,—and here is her handwriting,—come and look at it. She copied and arranged this from Mozart's Requiem." Miss Ophelia came accordingly.
"It was something she used to sing often," said St. Clare. "I think I can hear her now."
He struck a few majestic chords, and began singing that grand old Latin piece, the "Dies Iræ."
Tom, who was listening in the outer verandah, was drawn by the sound to the very door, where he stood earnestly. He did not understand the words, of course; but the music and manner of singing appeared to affect him strongly, especially when St. Clare sang the more pathetic parts. Tom would have sympathized more heartily, if he had known the meaning of the beautiful words:
Recordare Jesu pie
Quod sum causa tuae viæ
Ne me perdas, ilia die
Querens me sedisti lassus
Redemisti crucem passus
Tantus labor non sit cassus.[1]
St. Clare threw a deep and pathetic expression into the
- ↑ These lines have been thus rather inadequately translated:
Think, O Jesus, for what reason
Thou endured'st earth's spite and treason,
Nor me lose, in that dread season;
Seeking me, thy worn feet hasted,
On the cross thy soul death tasted,
Let not all these toils be wasted.
